


For Good

by seegraceship



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, But he doesn't care, Dark Merlin (Merlin), Depression, English Countryside, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Learning to live again, Lots of Tea, Merlin POV, Modern Era, Multi, Original Character(s), Post Finale, Realistic, Resurrection, So yeah, Suicide Attempt, Tea, Worried Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), but only because he's sad, i really want this to be good so imma do it slow and steady, i'm American but i'm trying to sound English, it's like witchcraft, merlin is loaded, merlin loves apple, only slightly gay because it’s cute that way, or as realistic as i can get
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-07-06 18:17:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15891426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seegraceship/pseuds/seegraceship
Summary: Fifteen hundred years. I’m sure it’s been fifteen hundred years because I’ve felt every single moment of it. Every draw of breath, every step on the hard ground, every ounce of stark reality has been obvious to me. I’m not the same as I was. Time has a way of digging deep into your spirit and settling its claws there.And I will wait. I have no choice, but I keep telling myself that wouldn’t matter.It might not matter.Would he even know me? Behind this familiar face is a creature who has lived the lives of hundreds of tortured souls. Does it show? Could he see the desperation there? If I made him look, really look...If he were here, I like to think I could be who I once was. Could feel the release of the claws of time like a weight coming off my chest. I like to think that weight would be erased. That I would be whole again.Have I only changed for the interim? Could that shroud be lifted for good?





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> This has been something I’ve crafted in my head for years. I never thought about writing fan fic until recently. Please leave comments and let me know if you would be interested in more. I don’t do things halfway if I can help it. I would want to make this a saga. I’ll do my best :3 Enjoy the preface!

I like to believe that somehow, all this time that has passed hasn’t been for nothing. That somewhere deep and dark, he’s following the unfolding tale of the world that he left instead of simply being in limbo. As he floats there, protected and waiting, I like to picture him watching what I do; where I’ve been; how I’ve lived… Of course, there are things that I would rather he didn’t see. Those are the times I’m glad he’s not with me. They are few, but it would be dishonest of me not to mention them. 

The world has sharp teeth, and the older you get, the more it sinks them into you. The older you get, the more people believe you can tolerate. It is true that many must bear this sharp bite from a tender age. Perhaps age isn’t the determining factor for everyone. I, myself, was lucky enough to wait until adulthood before facing any truly difficult or dangerous situations. That I am grateful for. Looking back to my childhood, as shrouded in time as it is, I remember only my mother’s loving hand and gentle spirit. I never felt unsafe; never unloved; never alone. If only I had understood then how blessedly lucky I was. Again, my experience is unlike many. Youth does not always offer safety or comfort, but I am unerringly thankful that mine did. Had it not, I don’t know that I could have beared what followed. 

I often plan how I would tell the tale if need be. I have a handful of times, but not to anyone who I imagine believed me completely. Many know the legends of the story that I was a part of. They know the names and symbols as well as the most defining relationships, but they do not know enough to understand. I doubt anyone would. Well, except for one. 

But even after a thousand years, there is no sign of his return. I look for signs, of course. I have been looking ever since I sent him floating across that mystical lake. I believe I hear his voice, even after centuries of its silence. I convince myself that his eyes are staring at me, even after over a millenium of them being closed in slumber. I feel him in my arms, taking his final breaths, even after so many lifetimes have passed. It has taken its toll on me. I see it in myself, though I try to deny it. Humor used to come for me even in the most trying times. I could laugh if nothing else. I was loyal to many and did all I could to see those I loved thrive. I had hope for the good. 

I am not sure if he would recognize me now. It worries me at times. Perhaps he is looking for me and cannot find me. But then I remember that outwardly, I look at least partly how I did then. My hair is the same ebony, my skin still pale, my eyes still light. I have grown a bit in size, but not so that I look entirely different from the gangly manservant who spent his time trailing his young king. It’s just that I’ve found strength to come in handy, whether it be for physical defense or a particularly trying spell. Even with the size difference, there were times I could not win. 

No, the changes that have taken place in me are mostly inward. My demeanor is different, my personality subdued. The achingly long life I have been assigned to has proven much more deadening than one would imagine for someone who is immortal. But as it turns out, breathing in and out cannot keep one’s spirit refreshed. Breathing can, at times, be an unfortunate anchor tethering you to a place that refuses to let you leave, no matter how much you may want to; no matter how hard you may try.

And in the midst of that unforgiving struggle, there is still an inkling of hope that one day, all of this won’t have been for naught. That one day, perhaps soon, perhaps far in the distant future, I might see him again. While I cannot leave this earthly plain by any force or will, that hope periodically breaks through my stupor. It encourages my soul to keep trying; to not just exist, but to live. For a time, it breaks the chains that bind me to this existence. Because there are in fact chains. 

And perhaps, one day, they might be broken for good.


	2. Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience and encouragement!! I've only been planning this for like 4 years, so I'm hoping to make it a gem. Enjoy!

Too many cases. There were far too many cases piled up in front of me on this bland Tuesday. They made my head ache. Normally, treating the pains and illnesses that found their way onto my desk took next to no brain power. But today, the stack of medical files seemed incredibly daunting. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t bothered trying to sleep the night before. 

Instead, I had sat in my favorite overstuffed reading chair and pored over a new volume of magic I had recently acquired. When dealing with unfamiliar magic, however minute, my body has a habit of amping itself into overdrive. My skin prickling, my lungs aware of each breath I draw, the world opens me up to the new source of energy. I’m considering putting a comparison here, perhaps to a flower blooming, but I think you get the picture.

As you can imagine, it makes it quite hard to sleep. 

So I hadn’t. 

To be honest, there are very few things that bring me so much feeling anymore. This job certainly doesn’t. But after 1500 years of existence, I’ve figured out that sitting alone at home isn’t exactly healthy. This at least fills the day and makes me focus on someone other than myself. And I am technically a physician by trade. 

Resigned, I began pulling files off the top of the stack in twos. 

 

* * *

Many hours later, honestly I’m not certain exactly how many, I grasped the handle of my waiting Corsa and swung the door wide. Slipping into the seat, I was startled by a yawn that split my face in two. God, I needed sleep. Immortal or no. The engine purred to life, and I began my quiet drive home. 

The English countryside was a blur as I drove, shades of green turning grey-blue as the sun set. Many years ago, I had chosen to live in seclusion, far from any other dwelling. Then, it had taken me several hours on horseback to reach any kind of settlement. However, as time spun her wretched, merciless clock around me, everything seemed to encroach. People re-entered long-abandoned lands and built houses which turned to towns and then cities. Stragglers on horseback became automobile traffic on flattened roads which turned to roaming highways that criss-crossed every region of the area. And with all these changes, my safe, secluded lands became a slightly out of the way home that could be reached in a half hour by car. 

At first I had been angry at the changes. For many they seemed gradual, only one or two major advancements happening in most people’s lifetimes. But for me, it was all at once, all the new developments doing their utmost to invade what I had built for myself. In time, though, I came to appreciate the nearness of things and people. Yes, I still craved solitude, but in those moments when I needed something or someone, it was far more convenient to meet that need. So I made my peace with the new world that grew outside my hamlet. Besides, no one could deny that a journey in the plush seat of a car was far preferable to the same journey on a galloping steed.

I neared my lands and felt energy hum lowly through the air. While I no longer hated others being so close, I had still taken the precaution of warding my home and the area around it with many layers of protective shielding. No use in being the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth if the job didn’t come with perks. I had been the only one with the ability to grant entry to this area for the last 600 years. It was exactly as I wanted it. Crossing the boundary of my land, I felt the hum increase in intensity. Layers of magic were pushed aside like thick syrup as I passed through the warding and pulled onto my drive, a long stretch of pavement surrounded by greenery and rambing gardens. Those directed my car for nearly a kilometer before the road widened, and I was met with my home. 

The structure had started simply enough: only a room or two to sleep and eat and exist. But time - there it is, that word again - time. Time is a recurring issue for me. Because time changed my simple home. Time made needs arise. Time required that I add new rooms, new furnishings as they became available. Sure, you say, I could have gotten on without them. But what would you rather sleep on: a thin straw mattress or a plush orthopedic mattress (more akin to a structured cloud, really) snugly fitted into a smooth, sturdy frame? 

That’s what I thought.

Eventually, enough time had passed that the simple two-room shack had grown into a comfortably-sized modern house complete with a living room, eat-in kitchen, study, two sizeable bedrooms and bathrooms, a small gym, and a rooftop greenhouse. Every room was furnished with comfortable, modern decor. If someone were ever to lay eyes on my home, they would see these predictable things. They would walk through the place and not think anything of it, unless of course they stopped to read the titles on the books in the study. 

Even though the land was out of the way, and even though I had the place warded to the nines, and even though the house sat so far back from sight of the road, and even though after all of that, I kept the appearance of the structure so very normal, I chose to further hide the bit that truly made the house my home. 

In the back of the building, the study has its place, housing the volumes I reach for the most in my research. Tomes of magic and medicine line the walls, surrounding my desk and my reading chair. It is my favorite place to be. You would assume that’s because of the knowledge housed there or perhaps the comfortable, productive space. 

You would be half correct.

Yes, the books are often what keep me sane on my worst days, but there is another reason I prefer to be in that room. It’s because there is another part of my home that contains far more precious things to me than all that paper and ink. It contains my past, my heart. For beneath the study floor is a staircase. And beneath that staircase is Camelot. 

I’m being dramatic. 

What I mean is that everything that remains of that once great kingdom, any tidbit of importance to me or to the king I once served, is housed there. I spent years salvaging things, hunting them down so that they would remain safe. Remind me that I did once live that life. Sometimes I think I forget. When those times come, I descend the stairs and find myself surrounded by ancient things, memories so old I think they may disintegrate as they flit across my vision. In total, there are more square feet in the expanse of storage below my house than in the living space itself. I have precious magical books, journals of my life, papers and research dating back from Gaius’ time. I have a cape, preserved, shining red and gold, a crown, polished and gleaming, and a seal, carrying such a heaviness with it that it’s a wonder I don’t crumple under the weight it holds. These things, along with others from that time, are the items I cherish most. Of course I also have more practical things. A safe with more wealth stored there than any person could ever spend. Passports and documents required for modern life and travel, all impeccable counterfeits. Everything I keep in that space below the main house is precious in some form or another.

And so I protect them. The entrance is hidden, but it is also encased in a solid shell of impenetrable blood magic. Unless you have the right DNA, you cannot pass through. For me though, it’s as simple as taking a step forward. Because I seem to spend the majority of my time in the study, I found it the best area to conceal the doorway. It would have the highest security in existence: it would have me. I may not seem like a weapon to passersby, nor even to those who know a bit about what I am. But believe me, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of my wrath. The power I’ve gained since losing everything I held dear would be difficult if not impossible to accurately describe. And if my home were breached, I would have nothing left to lose.

Almost nothing.

I silenced the engine, stepping out into the cool evening air, instantly feeling my chest lighten being in this comfortable space. Funny how that worked. There were times when I felt that my existence was crushing me, and the only way to fix it was to go somewhere new. But there were other times, like today, when all I wanted was to be here. Life tip: don’t be immortal. The depression and anxiety it brings are highly unpredictable and aren’t recommended for the sane. Relief spread through me as I shut the front door and it locked securely behind me. I kicked off my boots, dropped my coat and scarf heavily into a heap, and plunked my brown leather work satchel against the wall. As I walked further into the house, there was a rustle of fabric, my outerwear hanging itself neatly on the hooks nearby, boots righting themselves underneath. 

Tea. Blessed tea was my first priority. Soothing and milky and sweet. I browsed through my phone as the water boiled and the bag steeped, scrolling through current events and various messages from coworkers about office goings-on. When the color was right, I doctored the drink and took a slow draw from the mug. Damn near bliss. Often, it’s the little things that keep me in the present and out of the depths of my mind and moods. 

Food was next. What did I want? Not much, but I could do with some beans and toast. Simple. Filling. Always on hand. The entire meal was so bloody English I could have screamed, but I enjoyed it as I always did. I had embraced the new countries, new civilizations. There was no point in being the strange, never-aging man who claimed to be from Camelot when you could be the strange, never-aging man who was just another born and bred Englishman. That, plus my current accent matched with little alteration. 

After dinner, I stacked my few dishes in the sink where they began washing themselves and departed for my bedroom. Different clothes were donned, much more comfortable than my business casual work attire. One of my favorite developments in the last thousand years was loungewear. Truly a miracle. Next, more tea. To the study. Sit. Read. Routine. Comfort. No darkness. No darkness here. Safety. Ease. I picked up the magical text I had been poring over the night before. I had finished it entirely, but now I wanted to research the details of the writing, the spells, the theories. Cross-reference it with other texts from the same time period, from similar sorcerers and sorceresses. Do everything I could to understand the heartbeat of the pages and what they were trying to breathe into me. The feeling would be nowhere near as invigorating as it had been before, but it would be something. It would exist. It would ground me. Research was also the absolute most important part of each new volume that came into my collection. Context was as vital as content. 

Four hours into the process, a yawn worse than the one this afternoon overtook my body. I instinctively stretched my tired limbs, a loud groan humming low in my throat. As my legs straightened, the book slipped from my lap and flopped gracelessly on the thick carpet. Sure. Okay. I collected my limbs and picked up the large text from where it lay, placing it equally as gracelessly on the desk beside me. It bumped my empty tea mug, which slid across the smooth surface and hit the floor soon after. Ah, fuck. My hand waved lazily and the cup flew out of the room into the kitchen, where it was soon washed and placed back in the cupboard. I was done for the night. The feeling of easy comfort was being pushed out of my chest by exhaustion and replaced with a leaden weight. Again. I had hoped it would stay away for a bit longer. 

Leaving my reading chair, I abandoned the book and padded out of the study. Behind me, lamps flicked off and curtains slid closed. Before me, new pools of light streamed from my bedroom. The glow soothed me as I entered, even as the weight made itself comfortable on my sternum. I kept my room simple. Clean lines. Dark wood with light blues and grey tones for accents. I slid into my en suite bathroom and prepared for sleep, wondering, as I always did, about the use of brushing my teeth when surely the benefits were minimal for me. Tea though. Stains. Better to keep brushing, just in case.

The bed was waiting when I emerged, plush and clean. I slid into it, plugging my charger into my nearly-dead phone. I set the alarm even though I rarely required it. I needed much less sleep than when I had been mortal, usually only four to five hours at most. Don’t ask me how that worked or why. I couldn’t tell you. All I knew was that sometimes it came in handy for research, and sometimes it left far too much time for the darkness to strangle me. No telling which. Tonight, I hoped, would be the former, as the research was already done. Settling further into my chest, the weight begged to differ. My eyes drifted closed and I breathed deeply, doing my best to expel the heaviness as I exhaled. Inhale. Heavy. Exhale. Light. Inhale. Heavier still. Exhale…

Heavy. Still heavy. Pressing, pushing on my chest. This wasn’t how meditative breathing was supposed to work. I did this every time I went to sleep, and yet, I had somehow lost control. Inhale. Heavy. Exhale. Crushing weight. What the hell? Inhale. An anvil pushed down, down into my ribcage. Exhale. No change. The weight worked at my chest until it seemed to breach my skin, filling me. A cold, deadly weight slithered around me, clutching me tight. Inhale. Pain lanced through me at the sheer intensity of the sensation. Buckling of ribs and flattening of lungs. Exhale… 

I was broken, breaking as the weight pushed me lower, lower. I wasn’t in bed. Wasn’t in my bedroom, in my house, on this earth. I was sinking deeper into… darkness? Just darkness. Shrouded, freezing… why was I freezing? The slithering sensation. The cold. I knew the feeling, but my clouded mind couldn’t place it. As the intensity built, the realization struck me. Wet. I felt wet. Soaking, deadening weight pushed still harder when the recognition came. Was I drowning? Had I drowned already? There had been no sensation of water entering my throat, coming in my mouth. It had just… encapsulated me. I was in it, and yet had no memory of entering it. Slightly curious, I let the scene play out, knowing on some level that this was likely a dream. I had been incredibly tired; sleep could very well have taken me. 

The weight of the watery abyss was less painful now with the knowledge that I was asleep. That, or I had simply gone numb with cold. Also possible. When it seemed that I would be sinking forever, the sensation changed. Now I was stationary in an expanse of deep pitch darkness, no current or movement around me. Hovering, I waited for a change to come. Surely my dreams wouldn’t go to the trouble of dragging me down this far unless some fate was near. I can’t be sure of how long I stayed in the darkness, but after what seemed like it could have been an instant or an eon, I rose. The water grew lighter in both color and weight, and eventually I could make out what looked like moonlight glowing through the placid surface above. My chest seemed to reinflate as I neared it, my ribs knitting themselves back together as the pressure lifted. I shut my eyes against the current. Pain returned, then vanished altogether. There was a feeling of being pushed upward, shoved toward the shallows, and a voice seemed to say, “It’s time.” 

Time? Time for what? An inkling flexed in the back of my mind. Something ancient, tucked away centuries ago for safekeeping. It was so familiar, I nearly growled with frustration, but I couldn’t pull it to the forefront of my thoughts. It’s time. But what is it time for? Had I been waiting for something? Had something been coming? Coming. Time for something to come. To come back-

My train of thought was abruptly cut short as the water ran out, and my face breached the surface. I tipped my chin up so that my lips were safely over the rippling liquid. They parted. Breath was sucked over my teeth, my tongue, into my throat and waiting, screaming lungs. I hadn’t realized how much I had needed it until this moment. There had been no desperation for it while I was under the water. But now, now I was ravenous. More, I needed more. I gulped breath after breath as my body re-adjusted to the air that gave it life. It was like I hadn’t felt this in… a very, very long time. Like I had been down there for a lifetime or more. 

The inkling that had curled to life under the surface returned. It had been more than a lifetime, I was sure of it. Whatever was coming back, it wasn’t new. It was old, so old that it had been forgotten. Recognition was screaming at me now, urging me to connect the dots in my freezing, waking brain. Clues. I needed more clues. Now that I had been breathing steadily for a few moments, I dared to awaken another sense, lifting my eyelids and blinking back drops of water. Moonlight danced around me on the crests of the tiny waves I had made. I could see nothing besides that, no landmarks to show where I had risen. With some difficulty, I swiveled my neck, the muscles stiff and icy. At a glimmer of silver, I stopped. Focusing just below the waves, I examined the shine. It was right next to me, suspended in the water by… 

By me. I was holding something that gave off the glint of silver. No, not just silver. There was gold there too. I moved my attention to my hands, trying to get enough feeling back into them to raise the object and get a better look. Slowly, so slowly, the silver blade of a sword came into clear view. I had been holding a beautiful, gleaming sword, somehow untouched by my long stay in the watery depths of this place. The gold etchings near its hilt struck something in me, and again, that inkling struggled against my skull. 

And then, like a spell had broken, I heard his name. And I awoke. 

“Arthur.”


	3. Reunion

Awake. I was completely awake in half an instant. My mind returned to the present, but my body was still in the dream. I shook violently as I sat up, cold and shock stunning my system. The weight that had been on my chest before had switched from pressing to squeezing. I could have sworn my heart was about to burst. Waves of tight pain wrapped around my torso, and I put the dream to the back of my consciousness for the moment. I needed to calm down. 

Ducking my head to my knees, I wound my shaking fingers into my hair and began to breathe deeply. Inhale. Exhale. No weight this time. Just calm. Inhale. That’s it. Just like I had done countless times before. This was the same as any anxiety attack, any bout of paranoia. Breathe. Control. Inhale. Exhale. My fingers clutched the dark strands as I focused on easing the chest pain, filling my lungs with air. I was not drowning. I was here, in my bed, in my house, on the same earth I had been tied to for longer than should be allowed. Safe. I was safe. 

As my body began to relax, I allowed the memory of that dark, frigid water to reenter my mind. I was safe, yes. The dream couldn’t hurt me. Not the water and the cold, anyway. But the memories it stirred… Those could. Those held a knife to my throat. The more I thought about what I had seen, the harder the tip of that knife pressed into my flesh. The name I had uttered. It had in fact been me saying it. I hardly dared to think it even now. Hardly dared to think about him. 

At the prickle of remembrance, I stood hastily and grabbed my phone from the bedside where it lay plugged in. Four o’clock in the morning. I had gotten a solid five hours of sleep, traumatic though it was. That was enough. Out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. More tea. Always more tea. When I had been somewhat soothed by the hot liquid, I returned to my study and the overstuffed reading chair. I needed to think. 

The issue was not so much the dream itself. In fact, it was not the first of its kind. The issue was the timing of said dream. Many years ago, when Camelot had fallen and I had been forced to move forward, similar dreams had plagued my sleep. Always, he needed me. Always, there was pain and suffering. Always, I awoke in a panic, sometimes sobbing, sometimes numb. And always, I was alone. I never seemed to be reminded of the happy times or the future that was waiting, full of hope. No, never that. Only sorrow and loneliness. This had continued for nearly half a millenium, off and on. I sought help with meditation and mindfulness, though that wasn’t what the experts called them back then. Through the years, I worked to control my mind, and slowly I made progress. It was now rare for me to have a dream like this, for it to cause such a disruption in my thoughts and responses. When was the last time? I couldn’t remember. 

 

I finished the tea and brewed more. Yes, I was aware I had a problem. It wasn’t the only one. 

Why now? And why that specific dream? It had felt far more real than the others, if memory served. And the setting in this one… It unnerved me. I couldn’t help but picture his body on that boat, floating away from me. Excalibur as it flew over the water, caught before being pulled down. How had so much strayed from me, so many faces erased by time, but his on that day… I could see every feature. Hear every word he managed to choke out. I heard them all again.

Fuck the tea. 

Returning to the kitchen, I pulled a heavy bottle out of a high cupboard. I took a swig of the amber liquid. And another. Another. It never hit me quite as hard as I hoped it would. I could barely get drunk anymore even when I tried. My tolerance was astronomical, special thanks to immortality. The drink was more for comfort than effect, but I continued downing it just the same. I sat at the built-in dining nook in the corner of the kitchen, bottle grasped firmly in my hands. There was a question hovering in the air, one that I didn’t want to ask. Or answer. Another deep drink. Could I do this again? Dredge all that up further? More than just memories. It would be reality again. 

In my first few hundred years of life, when the dreams would strangle me, I took it as a sign. A sign of something happening, of his life returning, of him needing me. I was desperate for that to be the case. So I dropped everything. I traveled however far I needed to to stand by that miserable lake and look out over the water and hope to see him. Spoiler alert: it never happened. And now… Now I was considering doing the same thing all over again. I gulped down another burning mouthful. Two. Four. The bottle was half empty. It wouldn’t take long if I did go. The land I now lived on was very close to the spot by car. Two hours at most. So different from the time of needing horses to ride and natural daylight to guide the way. The question in my mind changed gradually from “How could I go through that again?” to “What happens if I don’t go through that and he is back?” He’s not. Couldn’t be. Hadn’t been any other time I’d looked. It made me angry to remember how many times I had stood, so hopeful, on the banks of that blasted lake. Every time, my chest had shredded at the realization that nothing was going to happen. It spun me into a depression time and time again. Eventually, I would just turn to numbing the pain. I’ll let you put your imagination to work on that one.

Hell, I was going to do this, wasn’t I? My old anger flared at the prospect. Such frustration and agony. Another deep swig from the bottle, and I stood. Not even slightly tipsy. Good. It would make the driving easier. And faster. Begrudgingly, I returned the bottle to its place in the cupboard, turning toward the hallway and my bedroom. I donned something warm and heavy, wanting to help keep out the chill night air. My chest was already ice. I made it to the hall again, and then the entryway and my waiting outerwear. Boots. Scarf. Coat. Gloves? Still in the deep coat pockets. A thought struck me, and I hastily returned to the kitchen and refilled the kettle. Tea might help a bit. Into the thermos when it was ready, and back to the front door. As if it were encouraging me, trying to ease my discomfort, the lock clicked open and the knob turned. Yes, magic door, brilliant plan. I sighed and allowed it to swing open for me, then stepped outside. The car waited, its blackness blending in with the obscenely early morning. Once inside, I turned up the heat, sipping my tea and letting it warm me. Time to go. 

I knew the way from anywhere in the region. I’d been there more times than I could count. I drove silently. No music, just my thoughts rampaging in my head. Silencing them was futile, so I let them squabble amongst themselves. It was a two hour drive for anyone going the speed limit, but I possessed the ability to hide my vehicle from radar, rendering the limit useless. I flew over hills and valleys, across land that was so vibrant in daylight. Now it looked void. Eerie. A half hour passed. An hour. Anxiety was crawling in my chest, blocking my throat. I continued. It was so close now, I swore I could feel the power of the place emanating through the countryside. I forced myself to take deep breaths. Damn, I should have brought the whiskey. An hour and fifteen minutes. With the bit of pre-dawn light available, I could see the curve the road was about to take. Knew what it meant. And as I followed the pavement, I glimpsed a large expanse of midnight water in the distance. My eyes dropped to the road, and I panted, something more than anxiety filling my soul. Despair. It was utter despair. I couldn’t do it. I had to turn back. If I were to stand at the edge of those murky depths for the umpteenth time and be disappointed, I might break. For the first time in a long while, I felt raw emotion clutch at my throat. Hot tears stung the backs of my eyes and threatened to spill, anger coursing through me. No. No, I would not cry. Not now, when I had lived through so much. This would not break me. 

Lake Avalon was in full view before me. I parked, taking deep breaths once again. Open the door. My boots touched earth, and a stunning amount of power ran through me. I had forgotten. It had been so long. I watched the ground as I made my way across overgrown foliage, rocks, muddy gouges in the earth where animals had dug. It looked so normal, like any other patch of lakeside; if you had just been looking, you wouldn’t have thought any differently. But for me, and others like me, the place reeked of magic. It seeped into every facet of land and water. I breathed it in, hoping to draw a bit of strength that would help combat the churning trepidation.

When I reached the bank, I finally drew my eyes up from the earth. I felt a crack in my resolve, and the familiarity of the situation flooded my mind. Deep breaths. I started on my left and scanned the surface of the water, moving to my right. No risen kings at first glance. It meant nothing; the sun had not yet fully risen, and the lake could easily be cloaking what I sought. Instead of relying on my vision, I closed my eyes. In my innermost being, I accessed the language that would still be understood by the guardians of Avalon. The Sídhe. Tiny, often angry creatures, but handy. The harsh, ancient words of the Old Religion returned to me from times past, and I volleyed them out across the water. 

“You know who I am, and you know what I seek.”

Silence for many, many moments, then my senses prickled, and I tilted my head to listen.

“Emrys. High sorcerer of ancient days.” The voice was almost a vibration rather than something audible. I felt it as much as I heard it. “You have come to seek he who is destined to return from the grave.”

I waited to make sure there wasn’t more before replying, “I have.” 

More silence, and then, “And do you see him standing before you?” 

Bloody Sídhe. “I do not.” They would be sure to mock me before turning me away. “But that holds no meaning. You possess great power, and you were tasked with protecting him until he was called. Surely you would shield him from passersby. You would be foolish not to.” Chainmail would most definitely confuse the lake-goers. 

“And why do you believe the king has returned? What signs have you witnessed?” 

They wanted proof. They were being cautious, which was odd. Why hadn’t they sent me away yet? “I had a dream that felt different than any I’ve had before. I seemed to be him, could see where he was. I felt and saw him rise.”

“Show us.”

I hated this already. Bracing myself for the discomfort I knew was coming, I bowed my head and closed my eyes, focusing on what I had felt and seen only a few hours ago. I opened my mind, releasing the images and experiences into the ether. A moment passed, and then something gripped my consciousness. 

If you have never had your mind violated by a magical lake guardian, consider avoiding the experience. It isn’t pleasant. 

I gritted my teeth, clutching my head as it ached under someone else’s control. Evidently they were not satisfied with what I had offered. They wanted more. They dug, pulling up my memories from the moment I had closed my eyes in bed. I felt the weight, the cold, the wetness seeping through my skin, wrapping around me. I began quaking again, dropping to my knees with the force of it. Helpless, I watched the dream as it played before my mind’s eye, feeling everything once more. Finally, it was over. I felt the grip loosen and sagged on the ground, chest heaving. “Are you satisfied?” I hadn’t intended for the words to be a growl. Breathless as they were, they had bite to them.

The voice that answered was indignant. “Do not forget that it is you who are the servant, Emrys. You have been appointed a crucial task, and you must see it to completion.”

This had definitely never happened on any other visit. Still regaining my strength from the mental invasion, I raised my head and looked out over the now sunlit water. “Does that mean my task is finally upon me? Is-” I swallowed hard, fighting the emotion that engulfed me once again. “Is he-”

“You have survived for only a fraction of the time that we have seen the world turn. What assurances can you give that you will not falter in your task? That you will serve to bring King Arthur’s destiny to fruition?”

The name knocked the wind out of me. But some deep, incredibly old, familiar feeling crept into me, and I found myself huffing a laugh. “If it is indeed time for you to return him to me, I have no doubt that I can,” a flat look, “serve him.” Old memories spun in my head, quickly dousing the tiny bit of humor I had found in the comment. What had made me think that? After all, he had died the last time my sole purpose was to serve him. 

“You words are sure, but you carry much doubt.” 

Solemnity colored my features. I knew the gravity of the situation. I knew the power the Sídhe held. They could hide him in that damn lake for as long as they wished. “The years have been trying for me. But as I understand it, the only reason I have been here that long, experienced those things, was because it is I who am destined to help him.” They didn’t interrupt, and I steeled myself, continuing. “If it is his time to return, then release him. Do not play mind games with me.” Because I’ll lose was the bit I wanted to add. I was still exhausted from my second go at the dream. 

Humming vibrations flew back and forth too fast for me to comprehend. Tuning my senses, I attempted to eavesdrop as they discussed the situation. Nothing. I could pick nothing out of the din. They didn’t want me to overhear. I tried to stand from my kneeling position, shuffling my feet under me, but as soon as I straightened, sickening dizziness washed over me, and I dropped once more. Why the hell did they have to invade my mind like that? Though I asked the question, I knew why. To be sure. I just wished their magic hadn’t been strong enough to scramble my faculties. It would wear off, but not for a bit. I focused on the chatter again, trying to gauge whether a decision had been made. 

Another few minutes, and a voice was directed at me. “Emrys.”

“I’m listening.”

“Though we have reservations about your ability to fulfill your duty, it is written nonetheless that you are to help the king return to glory. However,” I could have sworn the speaker looked me up and down, “should you need assistance, return to us. Arthur must not fall into dangerous company. Protect him at all costs. Do you swear to do this?” 

So this was it, then. I was dizzy all over again at the gravity of the words I was about to speak. But my voice was strong. Sure. “I swear on my life.”

“As you are immortal, your declaration is unnecessary.” A bow from the speaker. “But we appreciate the sentiment.” He flitted back over the water with his brethren. I waited, crouched on the bank. There was movement before me. A haze that I hadn’t noticed before seemed to be shifting, revealing specks of landscape that hadn’t previously been visible. I knew it. They had been cloaking the entire area, hiding its true appearance. I watched the haze as it drew back further, further, until all that was left was the shoreline. And then it vanished entirely, the Sídhe with it. And I was left staring at the Lake of Avalon, ordinary, shining in the early morning sun. Alone.

I had expected a figure to emerge before me when the fog was lifted. A cold, wet man clothed in rusty chainmail clutching a sword. But nothing. There was just nothing. I fought back tears as they threatened to spill from my tired, aching eyes. Why go to all the trouble of digging in my head, of making me swear allegiance to a task I had been dedicated to for fifteen hundred years already, if it wasn’t time yet? If he wasn’t here? I couldn’t take this. Not again. I would break. I already was breaking. I sat back on my heels on the cold, damp earth, lifting my gaze to the sky. I let a persistent tear fall. Just one. Only one. Shutting my eyes, I breathed deeply and prepared myself for another attempt to stand. One foot under me, I leaned on my knee and teetered a bit. Damn this dizziness. I shook my head, opening my eyes and bracing myself more sturdily on… I had reached for the ground, but something in my peripheral vision caught my attention. And then I heard a name that I had not heard for a very, very long time.

“M-Merlin?”

I went so still that I wasn’t sure my heart was beating. Frozen, I stopped drawing breath. My eyes slowly lifted from their lowered position. A hand. Bare. Pale. Resting nearby on the dew-heavy grass. 

No. No, it couldn’t be. This wasn’t real. But a quick examination of the arm attached to that hand, and I knew it was. Chainmail. Yes, the lake-goers would certainly be confused if they dropped by right now. I forced my eyes to continue traveling up the figure. Up his arm, his chest, his neck, and finally, my tired, emotion-filled eyes settled on his face. When I truly took it in, I felt myself shatter. 

The Sídhe must have dried him off, because he did not appear to have just exited a lake. There was no rust on the chainmail, no water rolling down the pale skin. The blond hair was dry. Messy, but dry, blowing every which way in the breeze. His face was the same. More knowing, somehow, but the same. I scanned over most of his features, but when I landed on his eyes, I couldn’t look away. Narrowed in confusion, corners tilted upward, as blue as the sea on a sunny day. He was studying me as I knelt clumsily in the grass. I’m sure I was a sight. 

When I didn’t say anything, he spoke up again, voice gravelly from disuse. “Merlin.”

I tried to say something, but choked on the words.

His eyebrows knitted together in what looked like genuine concern. “Are you all right? You tried to stand a moment ago…” When I didn't respond, he moved closer. “Merlin.” 

“I-” I tried clearing my throat. “I… A-Arthur?” It was the first time I had let that name pass my lips since just after the fall of Camelot. It felt strange, wrong to say after so long. Stranger still to say to the man himself. To my king. I felt faint. Shit, I couldn’t pass out here. All the times I had pictured this moment, not one of them had involved me unconscious next to a resurrected knight in chainmail. But the dream and the Sídhe and the whiskey on an empty stomach were making the cloudiness in my head thicken. I felt heavy, and I dropped a bit, both hands going to the ground. The grass blurred in and out of focus as I registered Arthur nearer still, his hand reaching for my arm. He spoke, but I didn’t hear what he was saying. My ears were blocked now, too. Breathe. I needed to breathe. To calm down. I shifted so I was sitting on my backside, knees drawn up under my low-hung head. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I felt the hand still on my arm, a voice murmuring, “Honestly, I didn’t expect to be the calm one.” Despite my light head, I barked out a laugh and heard a breathy one in response.

Several deep breaths later, I could raise my head with no repercussions. When I did, I saw his face. Arthur. It was truly Arthur. Not a mirage, not a dream, but actually my king. 

“Hi.” 

Hi. Hi was the first thing I managed to get out. Maybe fainting wasn’t a terrible idea.

His lips quirked up at the corners. “Hi.” 

“I’m sorry,” I began, “it’s just-”

“I was dead.” He looked thoughtful.

I met his gaze again. “Yes.”

He pursed his lips. “And now I’m not.”

“Yes.”

“And that… startled you.” Brows raised in silent question.

“Ah,” I shifted position so I was ready to stand once more. “A bit.”

“Maybe you should…” A hand gestured vaguely to where I crouched. “Should you sit a bit longer? Or…” 

In answer to his question, I rose to my feet, stepping back once, twice. His hand was once again at my arm. I gripped his arm as well for a moment, making sure I would stay up. When I steadied, we let go and turned to each other. He spoke first.

“You’re bigger than I remember.”

“It’s been a while.” I looked him over. He seemed exactly the same. Same size, same age, same everything. Same Arthur, suspended for fifteen hundred years. “Arthur,” I began, “what do you know? What did the Sídhe tell you?”

“I assume that’s who kept me… where I was.” I nodded. “I know that a great deal of time has passed. They made sure I understood that.” Good, that was a good start. “And I know that…” He faltered. “I know that Camelot…” 

“It thrived for many years, Arthur. I want you to know that.” He nodded once, keeping his eyes down. “How about we go to my house. We can talk there.” Another nod. “I for one would love to be sitting down for this.”

“You sure you won’t fall over on the way there?” Those blue eyes had snapped back up to my face.

“Well, we won’t be walking.” 

Arthur looked puzzled. “I didn’t see a horse…”

“No horses either.” His expression was dubious. “You’re about to get your first taste of the world you’ve woken up in, Arthur Pendragon.” I began walking carefully in the direction of my waiting Corsa, Arthur trailing at my back. “Allow me to introduce you to the car.”


	4. Revelations

“What. The hell. Is that.” Arthur stopped several yards shy of the vehicle waiting in the grass. 

Still focused on keeping myself upright as I stumbled through the foliage, I waited to address that question until I was standing beside him. My foot hooked on a root as I reached his side, and I careened into him. I really needed to sit down. This was all too much effort for the moment. He rolled his eyes as he caught me once more.

“Really, Merlin, we don’t need to leave right away. Sit and wait for… whatever this is… to wear off.”

“The thing about cars is that I can sit. Comfortably.” I watched his face to see what the reaction would be. It was doubt. Moving forward once more, I crossed the short distance and gripped the car door handle. He was wary, but followed. “You go on the other side. There’s another door.” He did. “Now pull the handle like I’m doing.” I popped the door open. When he mimicked my action, his eyes went wide and he backed away a bit. 

“Is this…” I waited as he met my eyes. “Is it magic?”

Serious as the question was, I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “No,” I assured him. “No, this is just a bit of modern technology. It doesn’t even take magic to make it work.” No response, so I added, “You could drive it if you learned how.” He was studying the interior, the dark fabric of the seats, the steering wheel. I slid inside and shut my door, waiting for him to do the same. Slowly, he did, sword at his hip clanging on the door jamb. When we were settled, I spoke again. “I’m going to turn it on. You’ll hear it and feel it, but it’s perfectly safe. I promise.” Wide eyes on me. “Not magic.” I turned the key, and the engine sprang to life. I waited a moment for him to adjust, then backed out of my spot in the grass. 

“Merlin, it’s-” He was completely on his guard, hands braced against the door and the armrest. He swallowed. “How is this moving.”

How was I meant to explain this? I scrambled for something, anything that he could relate to. God, the sixth century was so bloody long ago. “In the winter,” I began blandly, “when the air is dry, you know how you get shocks?” A blank stare back. “When you touch something metal or someone else…”

“Yes, Merlin, I know about bloody shocks in the cold. Where are you going with this?”

He’s been dead. Patience. “The same energy that causes those small shocks can be… harnessed in different ways. It’s called electricity.” No reaction. “Everyone uses it for everything now. They’re a bit helpless without it.” 

Arthur was quiet, contemplative. Then he relaxed a bit in the seat. “How about this. For the time being, unless you tell me to worry about something, I’m going to do my best to ignore it. I realize a lot has happened. And the world… has moved on. Surely there will be many changes, and I won’t understand them. I’m sure I’ll need explanation later but,” he took a breath. “For now, just tell me if something isn’t right.”

Bizarre. That’s what this must be for him. I had no idea if he had felt the passage of time or just woken up as from a dream with bits of knowledge from the Sídhe. “I can do that.” And with that, we pulled away from the lake. I drove the speed limit, not wanting to jar him further by rushing or, even worse, making him carsick. But when I glanced toward his side of the vehicle after half the journey, he had his eyes closed. Perhaps it was too late for the latter. “Are you alright? I know it’s faster than you’re used to.” 

“How much longer?” Carefully controlled panic laced his voice.

“An hour, but I can cut that in half if I go faster.” I had scared him, but he considered. “There are some people who feel sick in cars though, so if you’re not feeling well-”

“Do it. I’d rather be on solid ground again. I feel fine, just…”

Terrified, I finished for him. I sped up. I always preferred to fly down these roads anyway. There was never anyone around to get in the way. For the first time in a long while, I appreciated how smoothly the Corsa handled the worn motorways. This would have been a very different journey in a Model T. Finally, the roads narrowed, and I was nearing the border of my land. I slowed. Arthur took this as a sign that he could peek at the world again, and when I glanced over to check on him, he was looking out the window. “We’re almost there.” A nod at the glass. Winding lanes led past mossy trees, rocks, and unkempt grass, and eventually, my drive. I gently turned onto it, the first layers of magic caressing the car. 

“Why does it feel like that?” 

I cocked my head a bit in his direction but never took my eyes from the road. “Like what?” Most humans couldn’t feel magic. 

“Like we couldn’t move faster even if we wanted to. Like we’re wading through honey.”

“I’m surprised you can tell. Most people who come here don’t notice a thing.”

He finally turned in my direction. “Does that mean this is… magic?” He sounded doubtful. Likely due to his incorrect assumption about the car.

“Yes. Yes, this is magic. It’s protective shielding. It covers my property and blocks entrance for anyone who doesn’t have permission to be here.” We were nearing the house. “Actually, Arthur, many things in my house have elements of magic to them. For cleaning, generally, but there are others. They won’t be intrusive, just helpful for the most part.” I had no idea what he was thinking. “Alright?”

“Hm.” Uncertainty. When he realized I was waiting for confirmation, he answered. “I’m fine, Merlin. It would surprise me if the house of a sorcerer didn’t have magic.”

We’ll see if you’re fine. I certainly wasn’t. I dropped the subject and drove the last few meters up to the front of the house, parking before it. As I stepped out of the car and into the crisp morning air, Arthur did the same. He took in the sight of the house. It was plenty big for today’s standards, but it must have looked very humble to someone who grew up in a castle. “Well, what do you think?”

“It’s a bit odd.” He was studying the structure carefully, paying so little attention to me that when I barked a laugh, he jumped.

“Sorry,” I rubbed my still grinning face. “It’s not technically a normal house anyway, what with the greenhouse sitting on top.” 

“Exactly. Bit odd.” He leveled his gaze on me, following me to the front door.

We entered, light flooding the dim hall and the heat kicking on as soon as we were past the threshold. I removed my coat, scarf, and boots, but took care of them properly this time. No more magic than necessary. When I was done, I turned to Arthur. “I think it’s time to take off the sword and chainmail. You’ll be more comfortable, and they haven’t been used in a solid five hundred years.” I received a questioning look at that, but he didn’t argue as I carefully removed them. The sword I leaned against the wall, making a mental note to put it underground later. Then the mail. In the process of folding it sloppily, my eyes caught sight of a rip in the torso. A gash. My finger traced it, seeing the sword slice through it again. So easily, it had gone through. This slice. This opening had begun my long, miserable life. I hated it. And now, it was here in my hand, nothing but a remnant of that horrible day. Unbidden, the sight of Arthur lying in my arms, dying…

“Merlin.” 

I snapped back to the spot where I now stood, eyes shining, and lifted my gaze to the wholly healed risen king standing in my entryway. I cleared my throat. “‘M fine.” A mumble. Entirely unconvincing. But I finished with the mail and tossed it next to my boots for the time being. “Come on, let’s get you into something a bit less…” He raised his brows, waiting. “Medieval.” Not waiting for a response, I took off down the hall toward the guest bedroom, Arthur trailing behind. I went straight for the chest of drawers tucked against one wall. I’m not going to lie and say I hadn’t prepared for the possibility of him standing here with me needing modern clothing. Because I had. I always had. This second bedroom had been kept up through the years, always stocked with the essentials: comfortable, up-to-date clothing, basic shoes and undergarments, hygiene items. It made me feel better to have it, just in case. Just in case today ever came. And I was glad I had, for when I opened the drawers, I was met with exactly what I needed. Or rather, what he needed. I went for loungewear, deciding to give him the best possible impression of what we wore. Soft joggers, a long-sleeved, brushed cotton henley, thick socks, boxers. Simple enough. As I laid the items on the bed, Arthur watched from the doorway. I turned to him. “Just something comfortable. We can focus on fashionable a bit later.” He nodded, eyes drifting around the room. This must be incredibly overwhelming. 

“Did you… know? Did they tell you when I would…”

I shook my head. “Not even a hint. I think I would have handled it better if I’d known.” 

A hollow smile, and then, “Are you alright now?”

“I’m fine. The ride helped.” 

He scoffed. “Glad it helped one of us.”

“It got you away from that wretched lake anyway,” I muttered as I went to the bathroom to check for towels. 

“The lake kept me safe for all this time.”

I placed a towel amidst the clothing. “I’ve hated that lake since I sent you across it.” He was quiet. “But that’s over now, and it’s time for what’s next.” From the bathroom came the sound of the shower sputtering on. 

Alarm registered on Arthur’s face, but when he saw I was calm, he asked, “Magic, or…?”

I shook my head. “Technology. A shower. It’s the modern version of a bath.” I cocked my head at the open doorway, beckoning him over. “The water falls over you, and you can wash yourself under it. There’s a bar of soap inside already. You shower, and I’ll make us some food. When you’re done, just step out, and it will turn itself off.” I paused. “That bit’s magic.” I handed him the towel. “Alright?”

He looked unsure, but accepted the towel. “I think so.” 

“I’ll be in the kitchen. We passed it on the way down the hall.” I waited, making sure he didn’t have any questions. Though unprompted, I asked anyway, “I know everything is strange, and it will take time. But is there anything you need to know right now, at this moment? I can try to make this easier.”

The look I received was one of barely contained emotion, but he said, “No. Thank you.” Ever the mighty king. I offered a small smile and ducked out of the room, leaving him alone. 

In the kitchen, I stared at the open fridge, deliberating. What do you feed someone who’s been dead for fifteen hundred years? What would his system tolerate? I was being silly. I had brought him every meal for nearly a decade when he had been alive before. Chicken and vegetables. Simple. Familiar to him and gentle on his stomach. Opening the freezer, I scanned the shelves. Two chicken breasts stared back at me, each individually sealed. I pulled them out and tossed them on the countertop before moving to the pantry. Potatoes were a requirement at all times. I knew they were there. Several baby potatoes flew into my waiting hands from the bag, and I set them next to the chicken on the counter. While in the pantry, I grabbed simple spices and herbs for the seasoning. Salt, pepper, onion and garlic powder, sage. Thinking twice, I returned the onion and garlic powder. Today my goal was edible, not flavorful. Last was carrots to be cooked with the potatoes. I prepped the veg, halving the potatoes and chopping the carrots before sprinkling them with salt and a drizzle of oil. They went into the waiting oven. The chicken I thawed with a few spoken words, cutting it into bite-sized pieces and readying a pan for sautéeing. 

Twenty minutes later, a savory aroma floated through the house, seeming to warm the place. It was much less lonely when I cooked. Evidently I had timed it well, because as I was pulling the roasted vegetables out of the oven, Arthur appeared in the doorway. I glanced up and set the baking pan on the empty half of the stove. His hair was still fairly wet, but he had donned the clothing I had selected, which fit him well. “How was the shower? Do the clothes feel okay?”

He continued farther into the kitchen, eyeing the waiting food that had just finished cooking. “The shower was… different.” A pause. “I did however enjoy the endless supply of hot water.”

I grinned a bit. “That’s the electricity again. Handy stuff.”

“Agreed.” Arthur wandered over to the pan of potatoes and carrots, picking up half a potato and popping it into his mouth. “I suppose that’s how you were able to prepare these so quickly?”

“That, and a bit of magic to thaw the chicken. It was frozen a few minutes ago.” It too was now ready to be plated. I scooped chicken and vegetables onto two plates, set them on the tabletop, and sat down, inviting Arthur to do the same. Slowly, he did, still wary as he picked up his fork. I watched as he took a bite, then another. Another. Relieved, I began working on my own serving. Simple as it was, the food was filling and warm, and we ate in companionable silence for several minutes. 

Finally, Arthur spoke. “This is good. Thank you.” He waited a beat, then added, “Thank you for the clothing as well. Though I’m not sure how it fits me.” 

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you’re bigger, Merlin, but you’re not that much bigger.” 

His voice was teasing, so familiar that I felt my chest clench. He was attempting to retain any bit of normalcy. For a second, we were right back in Camelot. I sputtered a laugh, trying to shake off the deja vu. “Actually, they were always intended for you.” I continued eating. Arthur did not. 

“I thought you said you didn’t know when I would be… back.”

My eyes went to my plate. “I didn’t. I just… like being prepared.” 

“For how long?”

If my pupils could have drilled holes into my plate, they would have.

“Merlin.”

I forced myself to look up, face betraying me, I was sure. “You may want to prepare yourself, Arthur.”

“Just tell me.” He ducked his gaze a bit, quietly adding, “Please.”

“When you died,” I swallowed. “It was early in the sixth century. I don’t know the exact date; time wasn’t as well-recorded as it is now. But the century that you have been risen in is the twenty-first.” I waited, watching his face as the message sunk in. He continued looking down, brows furrowing as he contemplated my words. It was a lot. It was a lot for me, and I had lived through every aching moment of it. But to be thrust back into such a changed world and be told that it had been so long… I don’t know how I would have reacted. For clarification, I offered a highly unnecessary, “That’s fifteen hundred years, give or take.”

He was silent. He must have spent five minutes lost in his thoughts before he softly said, “Fifteen hundred.” I didn’t respond. It wasn’t a question. Finally, his eyes rose to mine, and ever so quietly he said, “And you’ve been here alone that whole time?”

Suddenly, I was stripped bare, bleeding out in front of the man who had once been my closest friend. Who had fought and died with no complaints. Who had always put others first. And who now, despite his recent resurrection of all things, was thinking of me. Shit. I couldn’t handle this. Had never had to handle this. I was never the one people worried over. Something so heavy, so hollow filled my chest. It took me several moments to recognize it as sorrow. Because despite the acquaintances I had picked up through the centuries, despite the rare friendships and even rarer lovers, the answer to his question was undoubtedly “yes.” 

I was certain my answer was clear when I neglected to respond, but instead of confirming what he already suspected, I went with, “Not always here. I traveled, studied, explored the world as it changed.” When we looked at each other again, I added, “But generally, yes. Alone.” There was no point in being dishonest. Not after everything. 

I had expected another silent nod, perhaps for him to raise his eyebrows, but he did not. Instead, a look of concern filled his face. “I’m sorry, Merlin.” Quiet. Sincere. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.” 

“Thank you, Arthur.” The name still burned my throat. “I could say the same thing to you. Waking up after so long to find everything completely changed. It must be disorienting. But you appear to be handling it well.”

“I can’t tell, honestly.” Arthur pushed back from the table, hands rubbing his face. “What I do know is that I could use some sleep. Thank you for the food. That helped a bit I think.” 

I glanced down at his plate, seeing that he had in fact eaten almost everything. Good. I was sure that his body was in need of nourishment after so long. He had barely been able to eat anything in the days leading up to his death. “Of course.” Rising across from him, I left the dishes and food scraps to tidy themselves and followed Arthur back down the hall to the second bedroom. He stopped in the doorway. Turned to look at me. “You alright?” 

There was no answer for a few moments as his eyes roamed my face. He must not have found what he sought, because he simply said. “Yes. I think so.” Meandering into the room, he took in the bed, the glowing lamp, the plush area rug over the smooth wooden floor. “This is a nice room. Do you keep it for guests?”

“In theory.” I hovered by the door, also looking around. “I wanted to have a second bedroom… for when…” Of all the times for my voice to crack. I cleared my throat. “If someone needed it.” Very good. Clever. He’ll never figure it out.

The look I received was such a soft one, I found myself blinking to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. I had expected the same Arthur with the same flippant valor in his words and actions. That same sarcastic tongue and same determined eyes. But the creature before me was not him. Instead, this man was discerning, careful. He was slow and meaningful in what he said and did. So different from the man I knew. He took the few steps across the room so that we were much nearer and forced my gaze. “You’ve really been waiting all this time for me.” 

Well, shit. Yes. Yes I have. I chose not to answer out loud, lest I let out a pained sob. So I simply ducked my head a bit, bringing it up again in a reluctant nod. I couldn’t hold that gaze anymore. As his sky blue eyes bored into me, my own ocean ones dropped to the floor. 

“Because you felt you had to?”

“Because the great dragon spoke it as my destiny.” It was nothing more than a croak, such emotion flooding through me at the memory.

A beat, then, “The great dragon said this to you?”

“Kilgarrah. His name was Kilgarrah.” I finally lifted my head a bit, still not enough for him to see how badly this was hurting me. “He told me many things; helped me many times. You would have died much sooner if it weren’t for him.” A laugh choked me. I’m sure it sounded like a cough. 

He repeated the name, testing each syllable. “Kil-gar-rah. I always thought he was just a beast.”

“You also thought you killed him.” I couldn’t help it.

His eyebrows shot up. “Because I did. You told me I-” Realization dawned on his surprised face. “You told me.” Piecing the situation together, he rolled his eyes. “You lied. That dragon got free, didn’t he?”

“Not quite.” I felt a smile tug at my lips. “I ordered him to stop his rampage. To leave peacefully.” At his wondering look, I finished with, “I’m a dragonlord.”

“Of course you are.” Arthur backed up to the bed, plopping down on the edge. “Although that does make a bit more sense.” He paused. Bounced a bit where he sat. And again. “This feels marvelous.”

This time, I allowed the smile to surface. “Despite how strange things are compared to what you remember, there are definitely some things that have much improved since you left.” I nodded at the bed. “Like that.” And some that haven’t, I could almost hear him thinking as he looked at me. I chose to take my leave, offering, “I’ll let you rest. If you need anything, I’ll be in the study at the end of the hall.”

“You’re not going to rest as well? You almost keeled over several times already.” A disapproving glance.

“I told you, that was… different. I’m fine. Also.” I gestured at the heavy curtains covering the window. They immediately slid apart. “It’s morning.” Light sliced through the room, making both of us squint. “So you sleep a bit. I’m going to get some work done.” The curtains reunited, and the room was left bathed in dim lamplight.

“Fine.” Arthur leaned back a bit on the bed, arms behind him, propping him up. “But if you fall over while I’m asleep-”

“Goodnight, Arthur.” I closed the door. As I walked away, I could have sworn I heard a muffled thump as an object hit the wood behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author needs comments to survive!! Please let me know what you think! uwu


	5. History

Despite my few hours of sleep the night before, I was in fact tired. But it wasn’t the type that I could sleep off. It was just… Arthur. Arthur was back. The feeling was overwhelming relief and such mental drain that for a while all I could do was sit in the kitchen, tea in hand, and feel it. Think. Of what I had just seen, experienced. Every moment replayed before my staring eyes. That dream, the lake, the misery and fear and then my king, crouching before me and breathing, breathing once more. 

All that time. So many moments. All for this. And it didn’t feel like no time had passed. It didn’t suddenly feel quick or fleeting. Still far too long. Far too painful. But at least now, he was here. Asleep in the room across the hall. When only a few hours ago, I had been lying down to sleep, just another night in my forever. Now everything was different. Or the same. Who knew. I suppose it would depend on what happened next. 

Next. We could move forward from that horrid day so long ago. Once Arthur adjusted to the new world, we could focus on why he was back, what our larger purpose was. There must be one. “When Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.” The words rang through my head. Again. Again. What need? Was something so bad about to overtake the world that we needed a long-dead king to lead us to victory? I mean, hell, everything was so different now, how would Arthur even know how to help? Me. That must be where I came in. I had lived when he did, knew where his mind was. But I had also lived in between then and now. Learned slowly what he must now learn quickly. We would need to be a team once again. As we always had been. Only now…

Now I would receive recognition for my actions, I supposed. I huffed a quiet laugh into my tea mug. 

But could it be that easy? Step back into those old skins? Arthur seemed very much like himself, albeit shaken by the resurrection. But me… While his physical wounds had been healed by our time apart, I had ripped open ever-fresh emotional wounds. Mental wounds. For me, the time had been detrimental. I doubted all of that damage would simply disappear now that he was back. I had become skilled at managing my issues, but I had never been able to overcome them, and I had spent countless lifetimes trying. 

For the third time in a row, I tried sipping from my mug and came up empty. I blinked. My eyes focused on the room I was in. The light had changed. Warming instead of blinding. How much time had passed since I had sat down? Enough for my tea to be long gone. I stood to make more and glanced at the clock on the stove. Three hours. It had been three hours since I had left Arthur to sleep in the other room. It wasn’t unusual for my thoughts to distract me for long periods of time, but I would have to be more aware of that with Arthur back. Bit rude. 

With a whispered command, I quickly warmed the water in the kettle to boiling and refilled my mug, plopping in a new teabag. Abandoning the sunny kitchen, I made my way to the study and my loyal reading chair. No books this time. Too much thought. Instead, I pulled my Macbook from its slim desk drawer and set it on my lap. Administrative bits would keep my mind pleasantly blank. Sipping my tea slowly, I scrolled through my work emails, answering those that only required simple responses. I left the others for a time when my king had not just returned from the dead. 

As I was typing my third reply, a sound drew my attention. Soft, slow steps from the hallway moved to the kitchen, then stopped. 

“I’m back here. In the study,” I said loud enough for him to hear me. More steps made their way toward me, eventually ceasing as I saw Arthur stop in the doorway.

He surveyed the scene, eyes pausing for a few moments on the thin metal computer resting on my legs. “That looks…” Drawing nearer, he examined the Macbook, circling around to face the illuminated screen. “I know better than to assume it’s magic, so… what is it?”

“You’re learning.” I grinned a bit as I tipped the screen back to give him a better look. “It’s called a computer. Not magic, just more technology. It’s how I communicate with other people when I’m at home or at work.” Pausing, I added, “Well, one of the ways I communicate.” I dragged my finger down the response I was working on. “I can write words here with this,” tapping keys, “and then send them to other people.”

Arthur bent closer, mystified. “Why go to all this trouble instead of simply writing a letter?”

“Ah, that’s the best bit.” I finished my current reply and hit send. “It’s instantaneous. The other person already has it.”

Blonde eyebrows raised. “It’s so… small though…” 

“If it makes you feel any better, it took over eighty years for them to become this small. They used to be much, much larger.” I closed the laptop and set it on the desk. “Did you sleep alright?”

Arthur sat back against the nearby desk. “When I actually managed to fall asleep, yes.” Before I could ask, he added, “It was very comfortable. My mind was just… it wouldn’t shut off.”

“That’s understandable. I sat in the kitchen for three hours lost in thought before coming in here.” I reached for the tea at my side, enjoying the last long draw from my nearly empty mug. 

“And this is your library?” Arthur’s blue eyes flitted around the room, taking in the bookshelves lining the walls and reaching to the ceiling. He strode to one of them, tipping his head to read the title. 

“It is. Also my study, where I do research. Sometimes my bedroom if it’s a late night.” I watched him examine the books. “I could show you the house, if you’d like. It’s…” I swallowed. “It’s yours now, too.”

He turned to look at me, abandoning the spine he had been examining, and nodded. “I’d like that.”

I stood, stretching a bit. “First, let me get more tea.” Returning to the kitchen with Arthur at my heels, I refilled the kettle and flipped it on, once again boiling it too quickly to be natural. A second mug flew from the cupboard and landed next to mine; he wanted tea as well. Handy, that magic. “Would you like some?” I was already filling his mug, knowing what the answer would be. 

“I would say yes, but I think the house has answered for me.” There was a slight smile in that voice. 

I smiled as well. “I think that’s my favorite enchantment I’ve ever laid on anything. Saves a lot of time and effort.” As our tea steeped, we stood by the counter, each of us glancing at the other from time to time. As if to make sure we really existed. To make sure we weren’t both simply caught in a convincing dream. I was sure we’d both had it many times. I know I had. When the color was right, I asked, “I like mine rather sweet and milky. How do you want yours?” 

He watched as I expertly concocted my perfect drink, then said, “The same, I suppose. I’d like to try it like that.” His was complete in another few moments, and I watched as he took a careful sip. He took another, weighing the flavors on his tongue. “It’s very sweet.”

I chuckled. “I can make yours a bit less sweet next time. I always add a lot of sugar to mine.”

“How many of these do you drink in a day?” Despite his criticism, he was still taking steady sips.

“It depends. If I’m at work, only a few. I stay much busier there. But if I’m home...” I took another swig to illustrate my point. “There’s no telling, honestly.” Opening my cupboard, I gestured to my generous supply of tea boxes. “I keep a lot on hand.” 

“Clearly.” 

“It’s become one of my addictions at this point.” The words were light, but I was serious. Tea was such an important part of my life. It was comforting. It always helped.

“Do you ever drink water? You can’t survive on this stuff all the time.” As soon as he said it, we both felt the words hang in the air. Then, “Well, maybe you can.” Lighter. “But still, it can’t be good for you.”

“No,” I relented, “I suppose it’s not. But I do mix it up with water every once in a while. Mainly at work or when I’m exercising.” 

He perked at that. 

“We can start there then.” I began walking toward the hallway.

He grabbed his mug and followed at my heels. “Where exactly?”

“In my gym. Where I work out.” Catching myself, I clarified. “Where I exercise.” Phrasing. Watch the modern phrasing. Back toward the front door, we entered a room tucked off to one side of the entryway. My gym was efficient; it had what I needed and nothing else. A treadmill and cross trainer for cardio, free weights as well as a weight machine, body rollers for easing sore muscles, and odds and ends such as a yoga mat and exercise ball along the edges of the room. The floor was covered in heavy duty mats to protect both me and the hardwood underneath. When we were fully inside, I stepped back and let Arthur look around. Bewilderment was the only thing I saw on his face. I would need to explain this a bit better. “This is where I do my exercises. Depending on what I want to work on - endurance, strength, flexibility - I can use different equipment to achieve that.”

With understanding beginning to overtake the confusion, Arthur circled the room. He studied the cross trainer, then moved to the free weights and picked one up. Surprise washed across his features as his arm sagged. “This is heavy!” 

“Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Shut up, Merlin.” He returned the weight to its home and moved on to the weight machine. Sitting in the designated spot, he set his mug on the ground and began pulling the bar hanging above his head. “Is this meant to be difficult? It’s very easy.”

Of course he had immediately figured out how to use the weight machine. Jock. “Here, let me uh…” I crouched behind him and inserted the pin into the weight marked 80 KG. “There. That should help.” Again he pulled. This time, however, the bar didn’t move nearly as quickly. He huffed in frustration, and I chuckled. “You can set how much weight you want to use. I gave you a fully-grown man.” 

Abandoning his seat, he stood and stretched his wrists. “Yes, well I have been dead for quite some time. I’m sure it’s normal to lose some muscle.”

“I’m actually not sure there is a bar for normal in that situation.” He looked at me then, and I could have sworn we were back in the castle. The mood was the same, the quips still filling the space between us. I felt lighter than I had in far longer than I could remember. I savored the feeling, deciding not to question it after so many, many years in the dark. “Alright, so this is the gym. Let’s keep going. I have a couple of other rooms I think you might like.” I waited while he collected his mug, and we moved across the hall. On the opposite side of the entry was my living room. It was seldom used for more than the entrance to the greenhouse, but I kept it decorated all the same. It made the place feel complete. 

Arthur followed me inside, immediately plunking down on the espresso-colored sectional. I could have sworn he gawked a bit at the feel of the cushions. “Is this for sleeping? It’s an odd shape for that…”

This whole experience was proving to be much more entertaining than I had ever pictured it. “No, actually. That’s a couch, and it’s just for sitting. Being comfortable.” 

“What do you call this room, then? The sitting room?” 

“You’re remarkably close. It used to be called that, but the more recent term is ‘living room.’” I gestured to the flat screen affixed to the wall across from him. “You can also use this to keep up with news and watch things for entertainment.” This should be good. Snatching up the remote, I switched the television on. A news blurb splashed across the screen, and Arthur’s eyes went wide. 

He immediately stood, walking up to the screen. “How the hell…?” Blue eyes squinted and blonde brows narrowed. Baffled, he leaned against the wall to peer behind the contraption. “What is this? I’m sure it uses ‘electricity,’” he spoke the word mockingly, “but what on earth?”

Amused, I leaned against the room’s framed entry. “There are some things in the modern world that even I can’t help but marvel at. Television is one of them.” I flipped the screen off and set the remote down. “Come on, we can explore this more in depth later. I want to show you the greenhouse.” Not waiting for an answer, I set out for the corner of the room that housed the spiral stairs to the roof. It took a moment for Arthur to drag his eyes away from the now black screen on the wall, but eventually he followed me. Up we went, circling until we reached the door to the roof and the glass enclosure that topped my home. 

I held it open for him, stepping back to let him see what I had created. Besides the basement, I was most proud of the greenhouse. Rows upon rows of herbs, vegetables, and legumes filled the space before us. Each item was in its prime, waiting in a magically induced slumber until its time came to be picked. They would never wither, never die. Much like me. Above us, the glass and metal roof glinted, streams of yellow light cascading down to illuminate the sun-warmed space. 

Arthur stared down the rows, stepping between two of them and examining what was growing around him. Flowers of burdock and comfrey met his fingers as he traced their shapes. Further down the row, bilberry and elderberry draped over their planters. Echinacea and catmint completed the row. “These are very familiar,” he said softly as he moved from plant to plant. 

Joining him, I supplied, “You’re in the medicinal section.” They had always been incredibly familiar to me, as well. It was why I chose to keep them even with so much modern medicine available. They were a comfort. “Many of these were used even before Gaius’ time. You’ve surely seen them before.” I lifted an echinacea bud. “Well, maybe not all of them. Some hadn’t made it to these lands yet.”

“And they’re still used? To cure ailments?”

Gently, I released the bud. “Not usually. There are so many new forms of medicine and treatments that most of these plants have been forgotten with time.”

“And yet you still keep them.” 

“I like them. They remind me of those days.” Dangerous territory. Time to change the subject. “Most of the plants I use are the ones over here. Vegetables and beans and other food.” I led Arthur across the greenhouse to where I grew my potatoes, bell peppers, corn, and the like. “I like coming up here to collect food for meals. It’s always fresh. The herbs for cooking, too.” Basil, oregano, mint, rosemary, and thyme, among others, stood in neat lines along the back of the structure. All except cilantro. Horrid stuff. Tasted like metal. 

Arthur frowned at the tall green stalks topped with tassels. “What are these?” Investigating the plant, he peeled back the leaves on the closest ear of corn. Plucked the whole thing from the stalk. I had to subdue the humor I found in just how confused the poor man was. He finished shucking the ear and deposited the leaves on the ground. They floated themselves to the compost bin. “Seriously, what the hell is this?”

I took pity on him. “It’s corn. Didn’t show up in this part of the world until about a millennium ago. You can use it for all sorts of cooking.”

“But it’s food? It seems quite hard to bite.”

“It’s softer when you cook it. Very good, too,” I assured him. “I’ll make some with dinner tonight.”

After completing the tour of the greenhouse, we descended the spiral stairs and moved to my bedroom and bathroom. I had kept our rooms similar in design and contents, but given them different color palettes. While Arthur’s room had the same dark wood and bright en suite, his accent colors were tans and creams where mine were blues and greys. Sunlit wheat to my blustery seas. He approved of the room, testing my bed to see if it was as comfortable as his. 

“It’s the same mattress,” I watched as he pushed his hands down into it before sitting on the edge.

“Why is yours so much smaller than mine?” 

Ah. “I like it that way. Smaller beds are cozier.” Better for anxiety, sleeping off depressive episodes, not as much room for others to invite themselves in… “Plus you were used to unnecessarily large beds anyway.” There was also a certain satisfaction in giving a king-size bed to Arthur. 

He ignored the quip, checking the view from my window instead. When he had circled the whole room, we returned to the kitchen where Arthur deposited his empty mug into the sink. I took the opportunity to refill mine while Arthur looked on disapprovingly. “On the subject of water-”

“Which we weren’t.” I sipped my tea.

He rolled his eyes and continued. “Where might I get some of that in this modern world? I didn’t see a well or a spigot when we were outside this morning.”

“That’s because it’s in here. Time for a kitchen tour anyway.” I approached the sink, turning the handle for the cold water. Above, a cupboard opened and a glass flew out, hovering under the stream of water until it was full. It then settled on the counter before Arthur. “And believe me, it tastes much better than it used to.” The extra filters I had added to my pipes also didn’t hurt.

He took the glass, examining its contents as if checking for contaminants. Slowly, he brought the glass to his lips and drank. “Alright, so it does.” He finished the glass and refilled it, once again draining the water. He gestured to the mug in my hand. “I don’t understand why you choose to drink that when you could be drinking this.”

“I told you, I drink water sometimes. Now, kitchen tour.” I made a circuit of the appliances, showing Arthur how each worked. The microwave was of particular interest to him. I made a mental note to pick up some microwave popcorn the next time I made it to town. That should be fun. After the microwave, he was most curious about the fridge and freezer. Prepackaged food was a marvel. Finally, we ended in the pantry. “There are snacks in here if you get hungry. I don’t think I trust you to cook yet.” He shot me a look, but I ignored it. “The only thing I don’t think I’ve shown you is the toilet, but I’m hoping you already figured that one out.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, Merlin, I’m not an idiot. That one was quite obvious.”

“It lifted the lid for you when you had to pee, didn’t it?”

“It might have.”

I chuckled. “Just make sure you wash your hands every time you use it. For anything. And before you eat. Turns out not doing that is one of the ways people get sick.”

“Seems like a lot of fuss. Are you sure it’s that important? I mean-”

“I’m sure. I’ve been a physician for over fifteen hundred years, remember. There have been quite a few developments since you’ve been away.” Tea once again gone, I decided to take a break from the refills for the final part of our tour. My stomach churned a bit at what I was about to reveal. But he deserved to see it. Deserved to have that part of my, of our history, just as much as I did. After all, I had built him into the spell protecting it. 

I turned to him, face devoid of humor. “There’s one more place I need to show you.”

“If it’s the study, I’ve seen it, remember? Magic books and that…” He mimicked a laptop opening and closing. “...Silver thing.”

“Computer, yes. I know you saw that. But you haven’t seen the whole room.” 

When he looked at me this time, I saw him register the seriousness of my demeanor. His own features grew solemn in response. He had no idea why the mood had changed, but he didn’t question it. “Perhaps you should show me, then.” Wary eyes, overwhelmed by the new world flooding him. He was about to be thrown back to the one he knew. 

I nodded and led the way down the hall to the back of the house. We entered the study, lamps flicking on, but instead of leading him back to the central part of the room, I approached a side wall, bookshelves covering it. Magic thrummed from it, the feeling comforting and old, so old. I took a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I laid my palms against the shelves, the books. Whispered words sounded in my head, and power emanated from me, wrapping around the room, the wall. Eventually, I felt a shift. When I opened my eyes, the shelves had moved to the left, and in the now open space before me, stairs circled down into a warmly lit cellar. I turned to take stock of my companion who was gaping at the opening. “Alright Arthur, your turn.”

His eyes shot to me. “What?”

Magic was roiling in the small space, eager for what it knew was coming. “I wove this spell to protect what I’m about to show you. Unless I add your blood to it, you won’t be able to enter.” His eyes grew wide. “Just a drop,” I assured him. “The spell knows who you are. It always has. But to allow you through, you must prove your identity.” I held my hand out, inviting Arthur to give me his. Slowly, timidly, he did. I gently guided him forward, to the edge of the opening. My hands covered his, quiet words uttered into the silence of the study, and then I released him. “Hold your hand over the staircase.” 

As willing as Arthur had been to accept magic since he had returned, he hadn’t been faced with such a blatant display yet. I knew this was no small task for him, trusting me like this. Trusting the magic itself not to harm him. He hesitated, hand hovering where I had left it. “Arthur,” I laid my hand on his shoulder. “I promise you, this poses you no danger. What this will allow you to see…” I searched for the right words. “It may be as close as you can come to revisiting home.” 

“Home. When you say that…”

“Camelot,” I clarified. I squeezed his shoulder a bit, backing away, encouraging him to step forward. When he did a moment later, I felt such a force grip him that I was stunned in its presence. Here was the king, the one it had been waiting for. The other piece of the spell that bound the space beneath. With Arthur here, the spell was truly complete; whole. Arthur, I could tell, felt almost none of what I did. He looked into the space where his hand now hovered, then looked back at me. The spark and crackle of power rippled eagerly through the room, and as soon as it hit me, I sank. Such energy, electric in my veins, so excited was the spell to finally have Arthur standing before it. I panted as the magic washed through me. Of course I had made it the strongest damn blood magic I could. Now it knocked the wind out of me. “I’m fine,” I spoke as loudly as I could when I hit the floor. “Don’t move.” He looked like he very much wanted to move, but he did as I instructed, eyes darting from me to the magic doorway. A minute later, the power began to wane, returning to the opening and settling. “It’s done.” 

Arthur pulled his hand back, examining the surface and flexing the joints. “I didn’t feel anything…” 

“It got what it needed,” I took the hand that was offered and stood. “You didn’t feel anything because it didn’t break the skin.” 

“You’re going to need to stop falling over like that. I’m telling you, it’s not normal.” His voice was light but there was an edge to it. I had scared him.

“When it comes to magic, I’m probably the most sensitive person you’ll ever meet. Can’t help it.” I offered a weak smile. “But I’m fine. Promise.” He muttered something about my needing to drink more water, but left it at that. With the hard part out of the way, we faced the staircase. “You’re now free to pass through here whenever you like. The bookcase will also move for you when you want to enter.”

“I suppose that’s what the blood was for?”

Nodding, I stepped onto the top stair. “It was your key. Now the door will be unlocked for you as it is for me.” He was peering down into the glowing chasm, trying to make out what was beneath. “You’ll be able to see a bit better from down here. Follow me.” With that, I turned and descended the stairs. I heard him following as I neared the bottom, heavy footsteps sounding on the iron treads. When he had caught up, I led him into the largest and most precious part of my home. 

Out of all the areas in my house, this was by far the heaviest laden with ancient magics. They seeped from every relic, every book; I swear the air was flavored with them. Arthur didn’t feel the same way, I’m sure, but he was transfixed all the same.

Before us was what resembled a large yet cozy cave. I hadn’t finished all the surfaces when it had been built, so the walls and ceiling were rough, hewn from stone. Despite the harsh building materials, the space remained warm and bright, lit by countless oil lamps built into the walls and ceiling. I had added rugs to some areas, wanting to both cushion objects sitting on them and provide some comfort to anyone treading on the hard floors. Until now, that had only been me. But as Arthur’s sock-covered feet carried him forward, I was glad I had decorated. Not wanting to interrupt whatever was going on in his brain, I stayed where I was, watching him wander into the open space. His eyes didn’t know where to land. The modern vault to his right? The library and research area to his left? No, he passed those. Further into the cavern, he came upon newer antiquities, those collected in the past thousand years or so in my travels. They weren’t what he sought. Next came my personal library, or rather, the journals that I kept as I moved through time. He paused at those, trailing a finger down the spines as they changed from wood to vellum to modern leather, noting the date stamps on the surfaces. Although he lingered on those, they weren’t his ultimate destination. No, that was coming next. The last section of my secret chamber was the most precious to me. To Arthur too, I was certain. 

At the back of my collection, past where anyone could see by merely glancing, were the oldest items I possessed. Some I was so afraid would be affected by air or touch that I had encased them in glass. Some I kept in protective boxes or lined up on sturdy shelves. Organized and secure. It was these that Arthur gravitated toward. As he moved out of my line of sight, I began following, wanting to be nearby in case he had any questions. In the middle of the items, he stopped, eyes moving from object to object. Reaching the edge of the area, I stood still, quietly observing. His eyes, I could see now, were glassy and his complexion wan. This must be so strange for him. As many times as I had stood where he did now, it was still strange for me. 

He was staring at one case in particular, head shaking slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Inside was the torso of a mannequin, red and gold cloth draped over it so as to keep the timeworn material from crumpling. A gold dragon sat proudly on the shoulder of the mannequin, wings extended. Arthur reached out as if he could touch the cape through the glass that shielded it. His fingers brushed the case, then dropped to his side. When he moved again, it was to the next case on his left, the one containing two shining crowns. I watched him take a deep breath, almost certainly looking at the one that used to sit atop his queen’s head. Such deep sadness filled his face that I felt like I should look away; as if I were intruding on a private moment. Rather than leaving him alone in a strange cavernous basement, I ducked my head, giving him as much privacy as I could from where I was. After a minute, I looked up. I found him staring at me. His face seemed to ask a million questions, and I was sure I could provide only a few satisfactory answers. Instead of asking him something that would sound dense and unnecessary, I walked over to where he was and approached one of the nearby shelves. On it rested a small but heavy metal box, and I lifted the lid to expose plush velvet lining. The item that was waiting inside was one I looked at often, even now. I rarely removed it from its soft home, but it felt appropriate to do so now. Gently gripping the seal, I turned, holding it out to Arthur. 

If he hadn’t shown any blatant outward emotion yet, this was the tipping point. His eyes grew glassy once more as he focused on the gold in my hand, and this time, a tear slid quickly down his cheek. He didn’t even seem to notice. That seal was all he could see. When he had taken it from me, despite the new tears joining the first, he spoke. “You…” Voice rough, he cleared his throat and tried again. “You saved… all of this. Preserved it. For Camelot.” 

Noble. My king was trying so hard to be noble, upright. It made my throat ache and my eyes sting with want of my own tears. “No,” I corrected him. He needed to know. Arthur looked surprised, but I continued before he could say anything. “No, not for Camelot.” Quietly, I explained, “Camelot was falling. It had many good years after your passing, but it was time for it to fall. I had seen it coming. Knew it would happen soon. Larger kingdoms were absorbing its lands. So no, I didn’t do it for Camelot.” There were the tears. Like Arthur, I let them fall. “I did it for you, Arthur. Only for you.” He looked like he wanted to respond, but he was silent, taking in what I had said. 

Gesturing to our surroundings, I went on. “Everything here is something I took from the citadel before it fell. From my quarters, from Camelot’s vaults… I tried to get anything of importance. But ah, some were just things that I wanted. Like the cape. I didn’t want to…” I swallowed. “I didn’t want to forget anything. In case it was a long time before you returned. I wanted them here, so I could remember. I preserved many of them with spells so that they wouldn’t fall apart over time. Others, like this,” I touched the surface of the seal in Arthur’s hand. “I didn’t need to. They lasted just fine on their own.”

I don’t know what I had expected from Arthur. More questions perhaps? Lamenting, reminiscing about the past? However, he only nodded, staring at the seal, arguably the most precious item I could have saved from Camelot’s ruin. After a few moments of silence, he raised his head and met my gaze. “Thank you.” 

It was all he was going to say in that moment, and I understood. Eyes still heavy-laden with emotion, I ducked my head a bit. For a moment, I wasn’t going to say the words on my tongue. But I opened my mouth, and softly I answered, “Thank you for coming back.”

His mouth curved upward a bit. “Anytime,” was what he said, but we could both read the meaning behind my words. The desperation there. We left it, neither feeling the need to vocalize what we already knew. And like that, something clicked into place. For there in the cavern underneath my house, surrounded by Camelot and old, broken feelings, a wholeness that I had not felt in a very, very long time returned. I wasn’t sure if it would last, but for that moment, the two halves of our bond, the coin, as Kilgarrah had put it, were rejoined. As if he felt the same thing, a calm settled over Arthur’s features. He passed me the seal. “Better put this back in its home. It’s kept it safe for this long, after all.” 

I did as he said, snapping the metal case closed and placing it back on the shelf. “You can visit anytime you like. Everything here is yours as well as mine.” 

“Technically more mine.” 

I raised my brows. “I’m pretty sure death made you forfeit that right.”

“But you knew I was coming back.” He crossed his arms.

He had me there. “Sure, it’s all yours.” I began walking back toward the staircase.

“Where are you going?”

“Back upstairs. Now that that’s over, I need more tea.” 

I could practically hear him roll his eyes, but he followed after a moment. “How about some food as well? I’m starving after this tour.”

I rolled my eyes just as hard, but I found myself smiling. Maybe I was okay now. Maybe I could go back to being the Merlin from Camelot. A part of me doubted it, but I shoved that part down. Only time would tell. For now, a light feeling rose in my chest, a release on the weight there, and it took me a moment to realize what it was. But when we reached the top of the stairs and I turned to face Arthur, the recognition came.

It was hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gahhh this chapter was written with such care. I want to do my story justice, and every time I start typing, I'm paranoid about getting it right. Hopefully I did :')


	6. Regression

Dinner would be a bit more impressive tonight. Now that I knew that Arthur wasn’t having any adverse reactions to food or drink so far, I wanted to make something with a bit more flavor. I settled on a cottage pie with corn on the side. Normally, I mixed the corn in, but I wanted my guest to get a good taste for the grain. After all, it was one of my favorites. He would likely see it on the table a good deal. I sent Arthur up to the roof to gather the ears of corn while I began cooking the potatoes. Our trip to the basement had eased something between us, as if we needed to be with the remnants of Camelot together, process everything together, for the tension to settle. It was the only way I could explain it. I had been trying to find peace for so long, and I never had. There had certainly been a good deal of closure for both of us in that cellar. Maybe now I could. 

My hopeful musings were cut short by the slam of several ears of hairy corn on the countertop. “Is this enough? I peeled the leaves off, but there’s quite a bit of this…” Arthur’s fingers tried to brush the hairs but got stuck. “String,” he finished blandly. 

“Yeah, that needs to come off as well. Unless of course you want to eat it.” 

“No thank you. I still have my doubts about the rest of the stalk, let alone the string.” 

I poked my head in the freezer to double check for ground beef. “If you don’t like it, I’ll be very surprised.” Beef went onto the counter, quickly thawing as my eyes flashed gold. 

As he finished cleaning the hair off the corn, Arthur eyed my increasing pile of ingredients. “Just what is that going to be?” 

“It’s called cottage pie. It’s a mix of all these things with potatoes on top. Classic British staple food.” I paused, a thought coming to mind. “You’re British now too, just so you’re aware.”

“And what, may I ask, is British?”

“Britain is the part of the world in which we now live. England, more specifically. So if anyone asks, you are one hundred percent English.”

“I thought you said British.”

“It’s both.”

“What?”

“Go with English. It will make everyone’s lives easier. This country is England. You’re English.” Potatoes were taken off the burner and beef was put on.

Arthur leaned against the counter, fresh glass of water in hand. “If you say so. You’ll have to draw me a map sometime.” Actually, that was a fabulous idea. “Are you sure this will be good? That meat doesn’t look very fresh.”

“Well, I’ve been tweaking the same recipe for about two hundred years, so it better be. And it is fresh. Besides the fact that it’s been frozen, all the food in this house is spelled to be fresh and safe to eat.” The look on his face changed to wary. “Trust me. I haven’t changed the food itself, just sort of... held it in its best state.” He let out a “hmph” but didn’t press the matter further.

I continued cooking, Arthur watching as I browned the meat and began chopping vegetables. Once assembled, the pie went into the oven, and I set water to boil for the corn. We spent the time chatting, waiting for the pie and the corn to cook. Despite Arthur’s unease this morning, he seemed to be relaxing as the day continued. By the time I had the food plated and we dug in, he was smiling broadly. 

“This is amazing, Merlin. And I do very much like…” He picked up a kernel on his fork, examining it closely. “Corn. At least when it’s cooked.” 

“Don’t worry. You’ll never have to eat it raw.” I was smiling as well, the rare expression welcome on my face. “And thank you. This is one of my favorite meals.”

“I can see why.” His plate was nearly empty, and it flew back to the counter to reload itself. “I do admit, I like that bit of magic. Saves me from having to get up.”

That was another point. He hadn’t asked me to do anything at all for him since he returned. “About that, you seem quite okay with not having a traditional manservant anymore. I mean, you bathed and dressed all by yourself,” I said with a smirk.

Eyeing me, he retorted, “I was never incapable of taking care of myself, Merlin. It was your job.” More cottage pie went into his mouth, and I waited while he chewed. “But I am aware that that isn’t the case anymore. I know things are different… in this time.” 

Here was one of the things I had always wondered about. Arthur had mentioned that he knew time was passing while he was gone. Did that mean the he knew other things? What had he been told? “How did you know? That things were different, I mean.”

I waited while he considered. “It wasn’t… words, exactly. More a feeling. I knew time was passing, and they made it clear to me that things were changing in the world even though I couldn’t see it. At first, when I realized I was somewhere… else… it was like a dream. I didn’t take what they were telling me seriously. I was just in a daze. But gradually, I felt more awake; aware. Curious.” He leaned back, second plate almost gone. “Also bored, I suppose.”

“But you didn’t feel time passing as slowly as you would have here. You were surprised when I told you how much had gone by.” 

“No, I didn’t feel it like that. It wasn’t anything I could have counted in seconds or minutes. It was more just the knowledge that it was so.” Something wistful came over his face, expression far away. “I knew when Gwen…” Struggling for a moment to speak the words. “I knew when she passed. Felt it. Even mourned her as much as I could in that state.”

Carefully, I interjected. “I had wondered why you hadn’t asked about her. I wasn’t going to bring it up until you were ready.”

Arthur nodded, face stoic. “I appreciate that.” His plate was empty, chair pushed back a bit from the table. “And dinner. Again. I didn’t expect to enjoy it that much.” 

Clearly he would rather not linger on the subject of Gwen. I took the hint. There was plenty of time yet for that. Instead of prying, I went with, “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Realizing their time was over, the dishes began moving themselves to the counter, leftovers being packed into the fridge. I stood and stretched, the events of the day beginning to catch up with me. So surreal still, seeing the blond man opposite me. “It’s still a bit early for me to get any real rest, so I’m going to work on my computer for a bit.”

He stood as well, face looking as weary as I felt. “I doubt I could fall asleep yet if I tried. It’s quite light outside.”

“In that case, how about I work in the living room, and you can take a closer look at the television? It would help you to watch the news, I think.” While he considered, I fetched my laptop from the study and brought it back to where he stood. “It will help you understand the world you now live in; the goings-on in this area and beyond.” Arthur nodded his confirmation, first refilling his water glass and then following me to the front of the house. I took my usual seat in the corner of the sectional, one leg tucked under me, and grabbed the remote to flip to BBC News. 

When the screen lit up, Arthur sat, watching the figures and headlines that flashed before him, all vying for his attention at once. That would definitely take some getting used to. Nothing had to move fast, be flashy in Camelot. Not unless you were fighting an army or undertaking a quest. Now, everything in daily life was made to get your attention. I watched as his eyes flew over the screen, trying to take everything in. Even the written language would need explanation, English changing as much as it had. Though he was being swarmed, Arthur seemed relatively relaxed as he studied everything. He asked few questions, content to observe for now. I opened my laptop, turning my attention to the emails I had left unanswered this afternoon.  


It was nice, not being alone in the house. The sounds were the same; my fingers clacking on the keyboard while the news chattered and nighttime bloomed outside, crickets and owls singing their respective songs to the darkening world. It was the same as most nights, save for one difference. Even though my eyes rarely strayed from my computer screen as I worked, I felt Arthur next to me. Companionship after so long alone. Odd. Comforting. I could get used to this. As the evening wore on, we flipped channels, different news stations and prime time programming chattering through the room. Eventually I ignored my laptop and began answering questions Arthur had. How did the screen work? How many stations were there? Who were the people in the programs? Where did they live? Were the stories real? When I heard Arthur ask what “Brexit” was, I decided it was time to retire for the evening. 

“Alright, I think it’s time we both got some rest. I’m officially worn out from today.” I stood, stretching in place. “I promise I’ll answer more tomorrow. I’d rather not overwhelm you on your first night here.”

He was yawning, though trying to hide it. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, but very well. I think that television gave me a headache.”

“It probably did. Your brain doesn’t know what to do with the images.” I’d had similar experiences. “Go sleep it off, and we’ll mix it up tomorrow. Spend some time out of the house.” We began to part ways, but just before he disappeared into his room, I added, “Oh, and brush your teeth.”

That halted him entirely. “Excuse me?”

“Another one of those hygiene things. Here.” I backtracked to his doorway and led him to the en suite. “You take this,” holding a spare toothbrush, “put this on top,” squirting toothpaste, “and get it wet. Then you brush your teeth with it. Thoroughly. Spit the excess into the sink when you’re done.”

“Honestly, this seems like a lot of trouble. I still have all my teeth.”

I had forgotten how low the standards were in that time. “And wouldn’t you like to keep it that way?”

He rolled his eyes but took the brush and wet it before beginning to scrub his teeth. A surprised look, then, “It tastes… cold. Odd.” He considered before deciding, “I like it. You do this every day?”

“Ideally two or three times a day. But yes, every day.” I had never thought about these little things Arthur would need to be taught. I wondered how many more we would run into in the days to come. “Alright, I’ll leave you to finish up and go to bed. Remember, don’t swallow it. Spit it out and rinse the sink.” A mumbled “hrmph” was his only response as I slid from the room.

In my own bedroom, I donned comfortable old sweatpants and a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt, softened from the many washes it had endured. After brushing my own teeth, I decided to sit down and do something I hadn’t done in well over a year. I settled myself in the small armchair in the corner, reaching over to the squat bookshelf I kept tucked beside it. A leather-wrapped book met my fingers, and I tugged it out of the mess of volumes and into my lap. The journal’s cover was dusty from neglect. Plucking a fountain pen from the utensil cup I kept on the shelf, I opened the book and turned to the first clean page. 

***

"I scarcely know how to write these words, so long have I wished to speak them. They became more a reverie than anything real. But as I sit here, on a night like any other, Arthur sleeps in the next room. He is safe and alive, completely healed by the Sidhe, and he seems to be adjusting well after less than a full day in the twenty-first century. Watching him today has brought about a new feeling in me. I thought I was lost to my demons, most of this time suffering as they wracked me with depressive thoughts and moods, anxieties that were often too strong to control. But today I’ve felt lighter than I can remember feeling since Arthur died. That weight on my soul has finally lifted.

"Perhaps it is only the option to focus on someone other than myself that helps, but I’ll take whatever reprieve I can get. I do so hope that this is more than just the result of a distraction. That it’s not only temporary. I need more good days. Having Arthur here will help with that, I think. I don’t expect the millenium and a half of damage to all be repaired in a day. Not even the strongest magic can fix a mind like that. But I hope for progress, slow as it may be. May this day be the first of many good days for both myself and Arthur.

"We need to get him a new name. Andrew? Aaron? Asshat? We’ll work on it."

***

Grinning, I dated the entry and closed the book. Time for sleep. I replaced the journal and pen and slid into my bed, a contented calm settling over me. All was well tonight. I had made it through the hardest part, and now I wouldn’t have to be so alone. I was still smiling a bit as I turned off the lamp and let my head hit the pillows, eyes closing. Out of habit, I focused my breathing; deep, slow breaths to ready my mind for sleep. How many more nights would I need to do this? The idea of just laying down and drifting off peacefully had been absurd before. Now… I tried to stop counting breaths, to let my body lull itself off to sleep. Less control. It was nice, just laying there sleepily. I had no idea how long it lasted, but at some point, my consciousness at last left me. 

I could tell it was some time later when I heard the sounds of feet creeping across the wooden floor of the hallway. I listened for a moment. When the footsteps reached the kitchen, I assumed Arthur was simply thirsty again. I relaxed, enjoying the silence of the night. Several minutes passed, and I didn’t hear return footsteps. Maybe he was hungry as well? I decided to get up and check if he needed help. Most of the food in my house required cooking of some kind, and I didn’t trust my great king with a toaster, let alone a stove or an oven. I rose and stepped outside my door. Despite Arthur being up, the hall was still dark. Strange. The house usually knew to turn the lights on when someone needed them. I’d need to check that spell in the morning. Making my way to the kitchen, I looked around, expecting to see Arthur with a glass of water in hand, a snack in his mouth, or frantically putting out a kitchen fire. Instead, I was met with an empty room. It looked like someone had been in here, yes. A couple of drawers were slightly open, a cupboard standing ajar. What had he been looking for? I took a quick inventory of the items that had been rooted through. No food, just kitchen equipment and supplies. He had gotten into the utensils in one drawer, serving spoons and salad forks in another. The contents of those seemed untouched. I moved to the cupboard, swinging it open completely and taking stock of what was inside. Cutting boards, mixing bowls, some serving dishes that rarely saw the light of day. None of this should interest Arthur. 

I felt like I was forgetting something. Something so painstakingly obvious that my mind was skipping over it. A moment later, I turned my eyes to the inside of the cupboard door. A magnetic bar was affixed to it, several of my nicer knives hanging there. I took in the line of them, stopping almost as soon as I had started. There was a large gap in the collection, my chef’s knife missing from its place. Something cold washed over me then, and I noted for the second time that the kitchen was empty. Where had Arthur gone? Why did he need my knife? I didn’t let myself dwell on that thought as I began checking rooms. No wonder the lights hadn’t been on; no one other than me was in the main living area. 

A sudden thought, and I made my way to the study. The bookshelf that concealed the basement doorway had been moved, a light emanating from the stairwell beyond. I made a beeline for it, feet flying down the steps and into the warmly lit cellar. At first glance, everything was in order. I passed bookshelves and collectibles, reading nooks and my journals, and still no Arthur. It shouldn’t have come as a shock then when I did finally find him; I had searched almost everywhere else in the house. But I entered the section of my oldest relics, the artifacts of Camelot, and was frozen where I stood at the sight before me. 

I had indeed found Arthur. He was in the middle of the collection, crouched on the floor surrounded by the remnants of his home. In front of him was the case containing his and Gwen’s crowns. Next to it should have been the case displaying the knight’s cape, but this one I found shattered. Instead, the cape was with Arthur on the floor, grasped tightly in his hand. In his other hand, I found the chef’s knife from the kitchen. I began to step closer to him, trying to figure out how to approach the situation, when I saw something shiny on Arthur’s crumpled form. Moving closer still, I tried to make out where the shine was coming from. Two more steps and I saw it. Mixed with the red of the cape was another red, this one deeper, moving. It was blood. A second glance at the knife showed red on its blade as well.

I didn’t dare speak yet; didn’t announce my presence. Not until I was closer. Not until I could take the knife from him. I considered using magic to stop him; move the knife farther away. If he didn’t let it go, I would. I would rather him put it down on his own though. I didn’t want to destroy what little trust in magic he had. Slowly, so slowly, I approached him. The blood was flowing from slices on his wrists. I grimaced as I realized he had cut them vertically. He wasn’t playing games, and he wasn’t seeking attention. Not that I thought he would do either of those things anyway. I needed to get closer, stop the bleeding. When I was a few feet away, I dropped to my knees where he could see me. With a calm, even voice, I spoke. “Arthur.”

He froze where he sat, shaking a bit, and turned his head to me. “M-Merlin?” 

God, his face had no color. How long had he been sitting here? It had felt like only a few minutes… had I fallen back asleep? “Let me help you, Arthur. Your arms…” I held my hand out, offering my help, but he shrank back. 

“No, no, you can’t help me. You have to leave me. I can’t-” A sob cut him off. He tried again, “I can’t be here. I don’t b-belong here. Not without…” He squeezed the cape fiercely, more blood gushing with the effort.

Not without his people. His knights. Gwen. His entire kingdom was just gone. I couldn’t imagine. “I know, Arthur. The loneliness, the strangeness. It didn’t happen for me like it did for you, but I can try to understand. But you’re needed here. You have a purpose for being here-”

“Then what the hell is it? Why did it have to be me and you? What makes us so special that our lives had to be disrupted like this?” He was shaking harder, the knife gripped just as tightly as the cape. 

How many times had I wondered the exact same thing? More than I could count, surely. And how many times had I tried to end my misery? More than I cared to admit. The issue with Arthur doing the same was that I was confident that he would die. And that was unacceptable. “I have absolutely no idea.” Just being honest. He looked up at that. “But I know that it is so.” Daring to move, I scooted closer to where he sat. “I’ve been where you are, Arthur. Trust me, I have. When it gets bad, you just have live breath to breath. Instant to instant. Get through the hard parts.” I was such a fucking hypocrite. “It’s not worth it to give up.” Mainly because I always stayed alive anyway. I reached out toward the knife, silencing my inner monologue. I had laid my hand atop Arthur’s when he tried to draw back. I held on. “Don’t, Arthur. You don’t need to do this.” 

So much blood was pooling from those deep slits in his wrists. They were in just the right place to do real damage. Dammit, Arthur, why couldn’t you have picked a less dangerous place? Done horizontal cuts? “Arthur, please. Give me the knife.” I tugged a bit. 

He tugged back. “No, Merlin, I can’t. Just let me go. I can’t be here, please.” The pleading edge to his voice made a sharp pain bloom in my chest. “Please, just let me go. Please.” He pulled harder, freeing himself from my grasp. 

That was it. I focused my attention on the knife, magic flaring in my eyes for a moment. It immediately left Arthur’s hand and met my own. I tucked it behind me. Though I felt a bit of relief in that victory, I sensed my companion’s unease. I forced myself to look at his face, the pain and desolation there. He was so pale now. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to be here, Arthur. I know it’s not fair. But I don’t want to be here either. Not alone, at least. I’ve been alone for so long. Please, stay with me. Be here with me.” In a last-ditch effort, I added, “Don’t leave me all over again.” 

He lifted his eyes to me, and I saw an apology there. An almost imperceptible shake of the head. And before I knew what was happening, he had reached out and grasped a large shard from the shattered case, swiftly burying it in his gut. He let out a choked noise, his eyes widening in surprise at the feeling. Though he was sitting, he swayed, and I lunged forward to catch him before he hit the ground. 

“Arthur! No, no, you’re going to be fine. Shit…” Magic, think, use magic. I pulled the first words I could into the forefront of my mind and sputtered them out, demanding they heal him. As much as I spoke, however, nothing seemed to be happening. “Heal, dammit, why aren’t you healing?” Was I saying the wrong things? Mispronouncing the words? In the midst of my panic, I felt a cool hand touch my cheek. Forced myself to look down. 

Gathered in my lap, Arthur looked strangely relaxed, his face calm as more blood oozed from his wounds. He opened his mouth, and I had to focus to catch the words. “It’s alright, Merlin. I shouldn’t be here.” 

“No, that’s ridiculous. I’ve waited, the world has waited for you for all this time.” Tears left my eyes. Hot, frustrated tears that held all the sorrow I’d endured. All for it to end in this? “You can’t- I can’t watch you leave me again. I can’t bear that.” I took a sleeve to my eyes and nose; it didn’t help.

Though he was slipping from me, his hand lingered, fingers remaining on my face. “You’re stronger than I ever knew. You’ll-” A cough interrupted him, blood now spilling from his mouth. “Be okay.”

Again, I tried to force magic out of me. Grasped Arthur still more firmly as I muttered desperately. He can’t die like this. Please, not now. I don’t know who I was begging. The Sidhe, maybe. The earth in general with all her magic. But it wasn’t working. He was dying in my arms. Again. 

Solidifying my fears, Arthur spoke once more, this time struggling hard to get the words out. “Merlin.” His hand fell, no strength left to hold it up. “Thank you. For all you’ve done.” His eyes closed then, and he heaved a final breath.

“Arthur! Arthur!” I shook his shoulders, tried to get him to pry open those heavy lids, but nothing happened. And then, as if I could feel it happen, his short new life left him. And again, I was alone.

My eyes flew open. The room was dark and still. Around me, I heard the calm sounds of the woods outside, the central heat humming quietly through the house. I, however, was not nearly as serene. Though I was frozen in place in my bed, sweat drenched my clothing. My heart shook my chest with its violent rhythm, my breath ragged as it tried to keep up. Aching waves of ancient grief flooded me, prompting unwanted tears. I moved onto my side and pulled my knees up closer to my chest. Slowly, I transitioned my halting breaths to regulated ones, shaking as I waited for the dreadfully familiar feeling to subside.

Fuck. So much for progress.

I suppose it was naive to think that one day with Arthur would repair what was broken in me. It had taken fifteen centuries to do the damage; why would it all be fixed so easily? So I waited. When the shaking subsided and my breathing quieted, I relaxed enough to stretch out of my curled position. God, my body was tight. Every muscle seemed coiled, tensed. Finally, I reached my hand out, feeling for the lamp and tugging the chain that would light it. I blinked at the sudden brightness. Picking up my phone, I squinted at the screen, trying to find the time. It was very early morning, too early for the sun or the birds. Could that really have all been just a horrific dream? Probably, but… Too paranoid to take it on faith, I stiffly slid from the bed and crept out into the hallway. 

At Arthur’s door, I stopped. Laid my hand on the knob and turned. Just a sliver, just enough to check and see if he was safe in bed. As soon as I could make out his silhouette under the covers, I shut the door again. He was there, sleeping soundly, ignorant to what I had just experienced. Good. I moved instead to the kitchen. Memories from the dream surfaced, urging me to check the cupboard with the knives. But everything was in its place, knives lined up exactly as I’d left them. A sigh of relief left me as I sank into the nearest chair. What the hell had prompted my subconscious to do that to me? In theory, yes, I knew why I’d seen what I’d seen. It was just fear, anxiety. The usual. But I had felt so good yesterday. Had fallen asleep with little issue, which was a rarity. Sadly, that good fortune hadn’t held. 

I felt alright now, though. I wasn’t shaky or sobbing. That was good. Just a setback, I decided, and rose to make tea. Surely I would improve. Surely this was a fluke. While the tea brewed, I reached for my ever-handy whiskey bottle and took a swig. Another. One more for good measure before replacing it in its home. I was fine. Arthur was fine. There was no normal for this situation; I would need to be patient. God knows I could be patient.

When I was sure I had calmed enough, I moved with my tea to the study. Taking my place in my favorite chair, I leaned back, picking up the discarded magical tome I had been working on before all of this took place. Still so much to do with it… It would be hours before Arthur should wake. Normal people slept far longer than I did. Though how normal he was, I wasn’t certain. For the moment, I put it out of my mind, instead allowing myself to be pulled back into the thick book in my lap as the morning sleepily dawned around me.


	7. Disclosure

By the time the birds started to warm up their voices, I was exhausted. Barely any sun yet. It had been two hours at most, but the events of the night before had made me weary. The book in my lap wasn’t helping. The thrill of this one was spent; now all that remained was in-depth research. While that usually excited me, my mind and body were telling me to give up for the moment. Heavy research wasn’t my current priority. 

On that note, I stood and stretched. To the kitchen. Make breakfast. My king would undoubtedly be up soon. In Camelot, he used to sleep until I woke him, but something told me that wouldn’t be the case in this new world. What best to make for breakfast? He was accustomed to large plates of meat and cheese, bread and vegetables. Ah. Full English, then. The greenhouse had some lovely tomatoes in bloom. I set about gathering ingredients, making a pile on the countertop. It wasn’t until the bacon and sausage were sizzling together in a frying pan that I heard sleepy movement coming from Arthur’s room. He didn’t emerge immediately. Probably trying to figure out what he should wear. If only the man knew how often I remained in loungewear all day. 

Several minutes later, he appeared in the doorway. By then, eggs had joined the meat in the large pan, spitting bits of hot grease as they fried. In a separate pan, I had tomatoes and mushrooms going, all the aromas creating a heavenly bouquet. “That smells so good I can’t actually explain it.” Arthur leaned over the pans and studied the collection of food. “When will it be ready?” 

“Soon,” I promised as I pulled out several slices of bread. The toaster slid from its spot on the counter, waiting. “Put these in those slots, will you?” I handed Arthur the bread and pointed to the waiting toaster. He did, watching as the slices were pulled down into the appliance. “Don’t expect this kind of breakfast every morning, but I wanted to do something special for your first proper day here.” 

“It’s appreciated,” Arthur said as he eyed each pan hungrily. “What do you normally eat in the morning?” 

“It depends on the day. Work days, I’ll usually just get tea and maybe toast. If I’m not working, I’ll do something a bit bigger. In between that and this,” I gestured at the pans. “I don’t usually make all of this for myself.” With everything but the toast done, I began plating two servings, Arthur’s much more generous than my own. 

“Why not?” He sat while I made tea.

I peeked at the toast as I stirred my mug. Bit more. Almost there. “I don’t usually eat much.” 

He frowned. “So you can have a cup of tea and a bit of bread and you’re satisfied with that? What exactly do you do at work?” 

I sensed a bit of condescension but didn’t comment on it. “I work at an office with other physicians. We see patients, run tests, do research… often I receive the more difficult cases that need a bit more time and attention. The ones that are harder to diagnose.” Before he could speak, I added, “It’s more mental work than physical work.”

“But you’re still a man. You’re still human. Don’t you get hungry?” 

“Not always.” As with every conversation we had had since his return, it made no sense to be dishonest with Arthur. “Sometimes I forget to eat for a day or more. Sometimes I’d rather not. And some days I eat perfectly normally. It just depends.” Good. Toast was done. I buttered it quickly before adding it to our already-full plates. “I’m human, but I’m… different. My body doesn’t seem to always need what other people need.”

He didn’t answer right away, but he watched me. I could have sworn I saw his eyes roam my frame. Though whatever response he had been considering, he let it go, instead focusing on the meal before him. Several minutes passed before he felt the need to ask, “What other ways are you different?” 

Where to begin with this? “I sleep much less than a normal person, for starters. Usually only four hours a night. Five if I’m really tired.” I paused to let him interject, but he didn’t. “I can also… my body can take a lot. Before I feel any repercussions.” 

That peaked his interest. He put his fork down. “What exactly does that mean?”

I followed suit, setting my cutlery on the edge of my plate. “It means that a lot of damage would need to be done to actually hurt me.”

“So you don’t feel pain?”

“No, no I absolutely feel pain. It’s just that if you were to stab me with a sword, I wouldn’t die. I would be injured by it, and it would need time to heal, but it would heal no matter how bad the wound was.” He was silent; I had no idea what was going through his head. Maybe if I gave him more examples… “If someone were to poison me, the drug would knock me out, make me sick, do whatever drugs do. But I would recover.” I waited. Still nothing. “Sometimes it does take quite a lot to have an effect on me though. I can practically drink my weight in alcohol and not feel drunk.” 

“Did the dragon tell you this as well?”

Hadn’t expected that question. “No, he didn’t.” 

“Well, then how do you know? How do you know that you’d recover from any wound? Or that you can’t be killed by poison?”

Shit. “Some things I figured out over time.” Evading seemed pointless, but I did it anyway.

He didn’t like that answer. “How?”

“I’ve made many enemies over my lifetime, Arthur. I’ve been in danger, had experiences that would have been deadly if not for my resilience. Honestly, there are too many to list at one time.” Please leave it at that. Please just leave it.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, leveling his gaze with mine. But he didn’t ask any more questions. He simply picked his fork back up and said, “Alright.” I waited, but he seemed to be willing to drop the conversation there for now. Good. I wasn’t ready to finish that discussion yet. 

We finished eating and cleared the table, me automatically refilling my tea mug while Arthur pointedly got himself some water. “I have an idea for today, if you’re up for it.”

“Do tell. Although I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to go back to work one of these days.”

“In order to help you navigate being back, as well as figure out why, I’m taking a sabbatical, or rather, a bit of a break from work. I’ll go back, but not for some time. I want to focus on things here for the time being.”

He looked doubtful. “Are you allowed to just stop going to work?”

“In some jobs, yes. Mine is one of them. I also got permission last night, so we’re all set.”

I could see the gears in his head turning before Arthur said, “Computer?”

I grinned at him, nodding approvingly. “Yeah, good job.” 

“Alright, well now that you have all of this free time, what are we doing today?”

“If you’re interested,” I began, “I thought we might take a tour of the area you now live in. Familiarize you with your new home a bit.”

Before I could even blink, he spat, “Not in that car.”

“I understand that you don’t like the car-”

“Damn straight.”

“-but honestly you’re just going to have to get over it.” That surprised him. His blond eyebrows were at his hairline as soon as the words left my mouth. “Look, Arthur, that’s the main mode of transportation that people use day to day. The world is now designed for cars, trucks, buses, and all manner of speeding things with wheels. But,” I stopped him from interjecting with a look. “I do have a compromise for you.”

“Such as?” He was pouting.

“We use horses for most of the tour.”

That surprised him. The pout vanished, a look of interest replacing it. “Why didn’t you begin with that?”

“Because we have to take the car to get to the horses.” 

“Bloody hell, Merlin.”

About that. “And there is one more stipulation. One that is non-negotiable.” When he didn’t interrupt, I continued. “I don’t use that name. It’s too strange and raises too many questions. In this world, my name is Morgan. Morgan Emerson. If you want to go out into the world, you must call me by that name.”

He considered. Waited a moment before responding. “How long have you gone by that name?”

“Hundreds of years… When our story became more legend than fact to those who heard it, I decided I should keep Merlin in the past. I became Morgan instead. Similar, but different enough.”

“Haven’t people… noticed? The man who never ages with the same name? Sounds like a whole other legend to me.”

“That’s one bit that I find quite funny, actually. I do appear to age. I change my appearance over time so that people don’t wonder. I grow old and eventually disappear. Everyone assumes I’ve died. Then I start working somewhere new several years later, appearing as my actual age.”

Arthur finished his water before saying again, “But surely someone would remember. Someone would figure it out.”

“There are some people who remember me, yes. They see a resemblance. But not many are still around. They just assume I have a very similar family lineage. In essence, I’ve made my own generations.” I sipped my tea. “You popped up right as I’ve started a new generation. Good timing.” My own mug finished, I placed it in the sink next to Arthur’s glass. “And we’ll need to make you a new identity as well. It’s much more in-depth now than it used to be; there are identification cards and such. ‘Arthur Pendragon’ needs to be tucked away with ‘Merlin’ for safekeeping.” 

“Because someone might recognize the name? Surely no one would-”

“Everyone would. Both our names are legend now, Arthur. We can’t risk the wrong person finding out you’ve returned before we’re ready.” I left the kitchen then, heading down the hall to Arthur’s bedroom to prepare him for the day’s events. He trailed behind me. “Start thinking of names if you’d like. I can help find some on the computer later.” 

“Anything?”

“Within reason. It has to be believable for modern times. And nothing from Camelot or your knights.” I opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of long johns, then jeans. A long sleeved t-shirt and a warm sweater. Thick socks. A down coat from the closet. “Put these on. It’s cold today. It will be colder on horseback.” He began sifting through the clothes as I slipped from the room to go find my own garments.

A few minutes later, I emerged in my own outerwear and knocked on Arthur’s door. He opened it dressed in everything but the down coat. “What am I meant to wear for boots? Mine are well-suited for riding if-”

“I’m afraid we need to retire your boots. I’ve got some that will work well, and we can get you some new things soon.” At his flat look, I added, “It’s about blending in, Arthur. You need to appear just like everyone else.” Though he looked like he wanted to argue, he did not, instead shaking his head a bit and making his way to the front of the house. In the entryway, I sifted through the collection of boots and shoes there, eventually pulling out two pairs of slim leather riding boots: a mid-calf pair for his majesty and a short pair for me. “Here, try these. I think they should fit.” 

He tugged the boots on as I donned my own. Coats came next, scarves and riding gloves after that. When we had been bundled to my satisfaction, I held the door for Arthur, and we entered the chill of the morning. Despite the cold, the sun was shining brightly, and the world seemed much more alive than most winter days. Arthur squinted at the sun and then at the Corsa waiting ahead of us. “Remind me why we have to take that to get to the horses. Why not just keep them here?”

“While I do have the space to keep them on my land, I don’t always have the time to take care of them properly. Instead they live with other horses on a farm nearby. I pay to keep them there, and they get the care and attention they need.” We were in the car once more, and I reminded Arthur to buckle his seatbelt. “I did used to keep horses here before I worked away so much. There’s still a barn and fenced-in pastures back behind the house. Though I’m sure they would need some work to be usable again.” I put the car in reverse, and we began backing out of my parking spot before I turned the vehicle to face my drive. Arthur already had his hands against the door and the armrest, bracing himself. He kept his eyes open this time, however. Progress. I drove slowly, taking the winding turns and rolling hills gently rather than how I usually drove. Fifteen minutes and only one complaint from Arthur later, we pulled up to a pair of iron gates with a bucking horse wrought into them. I braked and rolled my window down, pressing the button for the intercom at my right. In a moment, a voice greeted me. I gave my name, and soon we were through the gates and on the road that led to the stables. 

I had expected Arthur to ask questions about the farm, the horses, why on earth people kept horses only for sport now, but he was silent. As we passed pasture after pasture, he craned his neck watching trainers and their riders, horses playing and running after each other, others running laps on the track to our left. “Is this place only for horses? There are so many people who seem to be focused only on them.”

My eyes roamed where his did, and I smiled softly. “Horse training and riding is a very big business for some people. This is a farm that makes its living doing just that. Though there are several independent owners like myself who board their horses here. They’re well taken care of. Get plenty of fun and exercise.” I felt a thoroughbred thunder past as he circled the track. “This is one of my favorite places to come when I need a break from… everything.”

Finally tearing his eyes away from the window, Arthur turned to look at me. I flicked my eyes to his for a moment, then faced the road that turned toward a small car park. We had arrived at the impressive stretch of stables. Outside the Corsa, the brisk air was flavored with the scents of freshly-turned earth and livestock. It hit me in the face, brought back a thousand happy moments riding for sport, for exercise, to hunt, and even with the knights so long ago. Being atop a half-ton animal as it attuned itself completely to you, to your body and commands, flying across land and stream, over hills and through valleys with ease… no car would ever be able to match the feeling, the satisfaction. It would always bring me comfort. Familiarity. I sensed Arthur felt the same. 

“My horses are in this row of stalls.” I reached the correct stable, sliding the heavy door open and ushering my companion inside into the warmth. Climate control, while not strictly necessary for the horses, eased my mind all the same. I liked knowing they were comfortable where they lived. We moved down the line of nickering and shaking manes, me pointing out the animals I especially appreciated. Eventually, we reached the far end of the stable and the four stalls that my horses occupied. “Arthur,” I gestured to the first horse, my stoic Cleveland Bay stallion. “Meet Leon.” 

I suddenly felt shy as I received a warm glance from Arthur before he reached out to stroke Leon’s velvety muzzle. “Good morning, Sir Leon. You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” His hand traveled along the horse’s neck and down to his shoulder, taking stock of every muscle and arch beneath it. “How old is he?” 

“This one is the old man of the group. He’s sixteen.” I pet Leon’s forehead as Arthur continued his examination. “We’ve had some fun, he and I. Gone hunting a few times. Mostly exercise riding though. Exploring the area.” 

“He looks a bit different than the horses we had in Camelot.”

“His breed has only existed for about four hundred years. Originated in this part of the world. They’re very versatile and strong. I usually have at least one at any given time.” I moved on to the second stall, this time greeting a dappled grey colt. “This is one of my favorites to ride recently. He’s the youngest, but he’s catching onto all his training twice as fast as his brothers.” 

Arthur joined me at the neighboring stall, again moving to evaluate the feel of the Connemara. “And what’s this fellow’s name?” 

I grinned. “Percy.”

“Short for Percival, no doubt.” Arthur gave a wry smile back, catching on to this group’s name theme. “He’s muscled enough for the name; I’ll give him that.”

“Only two years old. He’ll be surpassing the rest soon, I imagine.”

Next to Percy was my other Connemara, this one a buckskin gelding. “Can you guess his name? It’s a bit harder than the first two.” The horse’s black mane swished as he shook his head at us. 

Arthur considered. “He’s older than the last one but younger than the first. He seems solid. Ready for an adventure by the way he can’t stand still. Though that does describe the vast majority of my knights.”

“I named him Lancelot.” I waited for judgment from Arthur. It came.

“Why on earth would you choose Lancelot? Of all the knights who served and didn’t vy for the affections of my wife?” He snorted, eyeing the mount with distaste.

“She wasn’t your wife at the time, and Lancelot was a friend.” I reached out and stroked the horse’s strong jaw. “He knew about my magic and helped me many times. Protected me.” This animal was so loyal and willing to do what I asked of him. Such a gentle spirit and yearning for approval. He also loved a good frolic. I had no choice but to name him after my friend. “He saved my life more than once. Died a hero.”

When Arthur had stopped watching the horse and started watching me, I didn’t know. But he stared at me, something like hurt showing on his face. “You told Lancelot you were a sorcerer?”

Ah. That. It hadn’t been entirely my choice. “I didn’t have another option at the time. We were in danger; I used my magic to save us.” Knowing where his mind was going, I added, “I would have told you too, Arthur, if you’d seen me blatantly using my power. If I’d had no other choice but to show it. That’s why you found out when you did. It was worth more to me to save you all then to stay hidden.” 

He was silent, but nodded. I knew he understood; I also knew he couldn’t help but feel slighted. “I know why you waited. And I can’t say I’d have done any differently.” Slowly, he reached out and rubbed Lancelot’s forehead. “I suppose you’re alright, Lancelot. The horse you, anyway.” He offered a small smile before pointedly moving on to the next stall. “Is this one yours as well?”

It was progress. I would take it. “My wild child, yeah.” Shifting my attention to the final one of my current herd, the pitch black Andalusian shuffled excitedly in his stall. “I’ll give you one guess for this fellow’s name.”

Less than five seconds later, Arthur narrowed his eyes at the brute and declared, “This is Gwaine.” 

If anyone else were in the stable in that moment, I’m sure I would have startled them with the laugh that exploded out of me. As it was, I made Arthur jump and surprised even myself. “Good guess.” I cleared my throat and turned behind us to the tack room. “Alright, Arthur. Who do you want to ride?”

“Leon, I think.” He followed me inside, and I handed him his saddle. “He seems the most… well-suited for me.” 

“I’m inclined to agree. He’s sturdy. Reliable. He won’t give you any unwanted surprises.” I took the bridle and reins before joining Arthur. Returning to Leon’s stall, I stepped inside and began tacking the stallion, eventually leading him outside to where Arthur waited with the saddle. When Leon was ready, I handed over his reins and moved to get my own tack.

Arthur fiddled with his stirrups while he waited. “Which horse will you be riding, then?” 

From the tack room, I called back, “I’ve been working with Percy a lot lately. I think I’ll take him out this time. Gwaine’s due for a romp as well though.”

“Not your precious Lancelot?

Saddle in hand, I emerged, glaring mildly at the blond man. “Not today, no. I want to give Percy a chance to show off what he’s been learning.” I received no response, so I turned to my horse, tacking him as well and walking him over to where Arthur waited with Leon. “Ready?”

In answer, Arthur heaved himself up onto his stallion. “I think so. Does all of this work the same as it used to? It seems more complicated than I remember.”

“Basically, yeah. But that’s another reason I wanted you on Leon.” I too mounted my waiting horse. “If you screw up, he won’t.” With that, I began walking Percy outside, Arthur following behind. 

Where to take him first? I settled on a couple of premade paths around the property, just so he and Leon could get acquainted. It shouldn’t take long. Leon had never had an issue with any rider on his back. We walked for a while, neither of us talking much as we got our footing. Passing the first pasture, I began trotting, watching to make sure Arthur could communicate with his horse. He nodded at me, easily slipping Leon into a seamless trot at my side. By the time we reached the furthest point on the farm’s property line, I decided it was time to canter. Leon would make sure Arthur didn’t fall on his face. No warning, I decided. 

And we were running. 

Behind me, I heard a muffled “Hey!” as our shadows began to follow suit, but Percy and I were already far ahead. The land before us didn’t belong to the farm, no fences or trainers in sight. Instead, it was unkempt fields; hills and valleys rimmed with trees and hedges that grew without restraint. This was where I loved to run. Percy did too, I knew. So we did. Despite the chill morning air, sun beamed down on the landscape, warming the colors that blurred as we flew past. Tall grass waved in the slight breeze of the day, and we stampeded through it, leaving a trail for Arthur and Leon to follow. 

Life simplified out here. The problems I had became whisps in the wind we stirred. When we ran like this, it felt like I might still be in Camelot, out on a journey with the knights at my back. Unless I looked down at my modern attire, I might be wearing the same simple clothing I wore for so many years, my neckerchief twisting around where the air whipped it. Sometimes I missed that blasted neckerchief. But not today. Today I was here with my long-lost friend, my king. Today I was at peace with the twenty-first century.

Evidently, so was Arthur. He and Leon came up beside me and Percy so fast that I did a double-take. Grinning, he met my eyes before urging his stallion into a full gallop. They thundered ahead, earth spitting behind them. Prat. We’d have to remedy that. I, too, coaxed my horse to gallop, and we careened along Arthur’s trail, icy wind stinging my eyes. It was worth it. Though I wondered how on earth I had done this so long ago with such poor winter clothing. Used to it, I guessed. 

We rode for long while, eventually slowing to a canter again and then a trot as I showed Arthur the nearby landscape. Atop a hill, I pointed out my lands, just barely visible in the sea of greenery below us. I showed him the nearest town in the distance, the direction opposite my home. The collection of squat buildings appeared flat from our height. “You can’t see it from here, but the office where I work is over to the left of that cluster. It takes about a half hour to drive there. I’ll take you at some point; when you’re ready.”

When there was no response, I moved my gaze to Arthur on my right. His eyes were tipped up at the corners as he squinted against the sunlight. Thoughtfully, he stared at the patchwork of greenery below, then out at the places I had indicated. “If you don’t look too closely at the village in the distance or at the clothes we’re wearing, we could be back home.” He turned to me. “How far are we from there?”

I almost didn’t want to answer; what if he wanted me to show him? There was nothing left… “A few days on horseback. A few hours by car. But Arthur-” He was waiting so patiently, hopefully even. “Nothing survived. There were ruins for a time, then nothing. I wish I could tell you something better, but…” I lowered my gaze to where he had been staring, the expanse of land below us. “But I know what you mean. About it feeling the same. I was thinking the same thing when we left the farm this morning.” 

Quiet wrapped around us then, no more sound than the wind in our ears. As long as he needed silence, I wasn’t going to interrupt. Waiting was something I excelled at. When at last he was ready, he turned Leon around, descending the hill. The ride back was somber; still. We let the horses’ rhythmic hoofbeats be our conversation until we had neared the farm again. Back inside the stable, we dismounted and began readying Leon and Percy to return to their stalls. This, too, I found therapeutic. Not just the riding, but everything surrounding it. 

“How long did it take you?” 

Arthur’s voice startled me, my hands ceasing their methodical movements. “How long did what take?”

“How long before you didn’t miss it? Or before,” He seemed to be measuring his words. “Before you were able to make peace with everything just being… gone.”

What a loaded question. Despite the fact that I knew how to act to hide the truth, there had been very little true peace in my life. Sure, I wasn’t crying about Camelot at night, but that didn’t mean I had made peace with it being gone. All those people, all those lives I had been entwined with, I missed them every day. I had never stopped missing them. While that was true, I also didn’t want to leave Arthur with no hope. “Peace will come, Arthur. It won’t come as soon as you’d like it too, but it will. As for not missing everything… I’m still working on that.” When his response came, I was sliding Percy’s stall door closed. I nearly slammed my fingers.

“Is that what you were dreaming about last night?”

Shit. Back still turned, I fiddled with the latch to buy myself time. Should I tell him? No, not the whole thing. Unnecessary. But I’d been honest with him every other time he’d asked me something. Did he need to know how messed up I really was? Useless to try to hide everything, perhaps. We lived together. Slept next door to each other. How much did it make sense to hide? “Not exactly.” Behind me, I heard Arthur lead Leon into his stall. When the door slid shut, and he didn’t speak, I knew he was waiting for more. I turned. “It’s not… rare… for me to have dreams like last night. But it wasn’t a dream about missing people; it was a dream about… losing people.”

“You sounded upset. Scared, even.” Though his eyes were downcast, his furrowed brows, crossed arms, and rigid stance told me he was worried, uncomfortable.

“With everything I’ve witnessed in my lifetime, a lot of it haunts me to this day. Some I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over. And often, like last night, it manifests into dreams. Fears replayed over and over.” He had lifted his eyes to my face. “It’s not all the time. And it’s not always the same things. But it does happen regularly. I’m sorry if I woke you up.” Or if you heard me call for you as I watched you die in my arms again.

Of all the reactions I had expected from Arthur, anger hadn’t been one of them. Discomfort, a bit of sympathy, sure. But not anger. Yet he was shaking his head, eyes hard and jaw set. “You don’t need to be sorry, Merlin. Morgan. Whoever you are. What reason do you have to be sorry? You have no control over it. You had no control over being left here. You had no control over what happened while you were forced to watch. So don’t be sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry you were stuck with all of this for so long by yourself.”

Definitely hadn’t expected that. I didn’t know how to answer. It turned out I didn’t need to, though, because Arthur didn’t wait for a response. In the next moment, he was on his way out of the stable toward the waiting car. Striding quickly behind him, we made our way to the Corsa and slid inside, neither of us speaking yet. I turned the key and got the heat going for the short journey back home. 

He didn’t even react as we drove, face placid and unmoving. He was still angry, I was sure. If there was one thing I knew about Arthur, modern or no, it was that he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he believed himself to be. It was just the why that I was missing. Outside the house, I parked in a patch of early afternoon shade and stepped out of the car, my sullen king doing the same. This couldn’t carry on all day. It couldn’t. As soon as we crossed the threshold into the entryway, I turned on him. “Alright, drop the angry Arthur routine. Why are you so upset?” Incredulity replaced the anger. “I mean, I get it in general. I get that you just got here and you’re just learning about what happened while you were away and you don’t think it’s fair that I was here so long. I understand that. But why anger?”

“Because you didn’t deserve that! You don’t deserve to have so much misery follow you around when you did nothing to earn it. You don’t deserve to be plagued by nightmares of things that you only experienced because it was some sort of prophecy. I’ve been here for all of a day and a half, and I know you’re different. I could tell the moment I saw you again. It shows on your face and in your voice and in how you react to things. You’re not the same Merlin.” He quieted and added, “And I’m just very sorry that there was no one to help you. Lot of good I did floating in that lake.” 

Well, I had my answer. Evidently, he had been picking up on a lot more than I had given him credit for. “We each had our roles to play. And believe me, I would rather mine have been different, too. But for whatever reason, that’s what happened. It’s not like yours was pleasant. I mean, you died.” 

A solemn nod. “I did die.” His lips quirked up at the corners, much to Arthur’s chagrin. “I suppose it could have been better for both of us.”

“For what it’s worth, you seem to be adjusting much better than I did.” Tired of standing in warm outerwear, I began disposing of the unwanted items. “I was a mess when you died.”

“Not helping my guilt, but thanks.” 

When we were both left standing in our regular clothing, I led us to the kitchen for food and tea. I needed so much tea right now. Whiskey wouldn’t hurt, either, but I decided to let that habit be a secret for a bit longer. Tea in hand, I slumped down at the table and let my body rest from the morning’s events. “I promise I’ll make food in a bit. But frankly, I haven’t ridden for that long in years. I could take a nap right now.”

“Some things never change.” Arthur retrieved his standard glass of water and sat with me. “Your bum could never handle a day on horseback.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t deign to reply. 

“Merlin?”

“Hm?”

“I would be, too.”

I sat up a bit. “Would be what?”

Setting his glass down, he rested his hands in front of him, arms on the table. “I’d be a mess if you died.” 

At the words, a warmth spread in my chest; it hurt a bit, but I didn’t mind. It wasn’t the pangs of depression that kept me buried. It wasn’t the tight coil of anxiety. It was just… warm. Nice. Yet another tether to this man for whom I had already endured the unimaginable. I let the contentment from his comment show on my face as I said, “I always knew you cared, Arthur. You never hid it as well as you thought. But I appreciate you saying that.” 

Clearly uncomfortable with the outpouring of emotion, Arthur simply stood and began opening cupboards. “I think it’s time for food. I’m starving.” 

I stood as well. “As you wish. Though you’re looking in all the wrong places.” Ignoring the glance he threw over his shoulder, I disappeared into the pantry for ingredients to feed my cantankerous king.


	8. Interference

“What about ‘Anthony?’” Arthur leveled me with such a reproachful look that I nearly laughed. “What? It’s modern. It’s the same first letter you already have.”

“It’s flourishy. And long.” He ran his fingers down the spines of magical tomes as he walked the length of the bookshelves in the study. Pausing at one, he squinted.

“It’s only one more syllable than ‘Arthur.’”

Arthur turned from where he was examining the worn cover of the old grimoire he’d pulled out of the shelf. “One more what?” 

Oh, right. Those weren’t a thing either. “Syllable. Never mind. The point is that you’re very picky, and you’re not exactly offering any suggestions of your own.” Me, I was browsing baby name websites.

“I did offer a suggestion, but you turned it down quite hastily.”

I rolled my eyes. “‘Alistair’ is not a common name. Let’s try something that people know how to spell.” Realizing something, I added, “And it’s just as long as ‘Anthony.’” 

Bickering was all we’d accomplished with regards to name choice. Anything I suggested was too “modern” or “contrived” for Arthur’s approval. Alexander? Too long. Adam? Too severe. Austin? What in the hell was that? I’d also suggested names that didn’t begin with the letter “a,” but those had produced far more mocking reactions from my roommate. We would stick with “a.” 

I began the rapid-fire portion of our conversation. “Aiden, Adrian, Albert, Ashton, Andrew, Alan, Anderson, Aaron, Alec-”

“Wait, what was that one?”

“Alec?” 

Utter disgust. “No, Merlin, the one before that.”

“Aaron?” 

When the disgust faded, I knew we had found it. “I like that. That’s my name. Aaron.”

Well, good. That wasn’t too painful. “Aaron what? You have to choose a surname as well.” I prayed that this wouldn’t elicit another lengthy name volley. 

Seeming to consider, Arthur slid the grimoire back onto the shelf. “Can’t we just use yours? It didn’t seem awful.” 

“You’re too kind.” 

“I’m aware.” Though he knew he was being mocked, he didn’t appear to mind. “I mean it though. Couldn’t we just use the same name? We could be brothers…” He eyed me up and down. “...by marriage.”

Yes, of course. Two drastically different-looking men with the same last name living alone in a secluded house on a vast acreage in the English countryside. Just brothers. “I think it would be better for you to choose your own name. Have your own identity for your new life.” When his face fell a bit, I added, “It’s not that I don’t want to share my name. It’s that it wouldn’t mean what you’re thinking in the world today.”

Incredulous brows rose. “Have times changed so much that two men with the same name couldn’t possibly be brothers?”

“Not when they don’t look anything alike, no. No, they would assume we were…” I gestured between the two of us. “Together in a different way.”

Of all the ways Arthur could have reacted, I hadn’t seen a belly laugh coming. When he had collected himself, he gestured as I had and stammered out, “The two of us? Is the new world so daft that it would assume something so preposterous before even asking questions?”

“Well, it’s been a long time, Arthur. And… it’s not so preposterous anymore.” He quieted. “One might even call it common. People are much more open to different ways of living now.” No response, so I moved on for him. We could get to this later. “Do you have any surnames that you might like to use?”

“I don’t know many on my own. Not that I’d want to take, anyway. They likely wouldn’t pass your inspection, either.” Sitting in the wooden chair next to me, he rested his folded hands on the desktop. 

“Actually, I have one that we could both live with. It’s English, too. Short. Fitting.”

“And what might that be?”

I grinned. “King.”

That got a smile. I knew it might. Fighting against the satisfaction now swarming him, Arthur fidgeted in his seat. “Aaron King?”

“I think it suits very well. You?” 

“I could tolerate it.”

Finally. Good. I shut the laptop and set it on the desk before grabbing my phone from its place in my pocket. “Then it’s picture time. You need IDs.” At the blank stare I received, I added, “Identification.”

The next half hour consisted of me posing Arthur against a plain wall, coaching his expressions, and explaining what photography was. The phone camera I didn’t fully understand myself, but I was able to give him the gist of the inner workings. He very much enjoyed studying the pictures and then changing his features at the last minute before I snapped the next image. 

When it happened for the fourth time, I lost patience. “Damn it, Arthur, hold still! We need good ones so that your IDs will look real.”

That caught his attention. “Are they not going to be real?”

“No. With secret identities and immortal slash risen people, you can’t exactly get the real ones. They’ll be good fakes, but not with ridiculous pictures attached. Now, come on.” I motioned for him to get back into place. Finally, he granted me a few somber, straight-faced photos and one with a bit of a smile. “Perfect. Thank you. I’ll get these where they need to go, and you’ll have a modern identity before too long. Until then, you’ll have to refrain from taking the car out for joyrides.”

When I looked over to where he stood, his face had taken on a sour expression, eyes narrowed and lips pursed a bit. “I think I can live with that.” 

The day had been a quiet one after our excursion in the morning, and we were both content to laze around, conversation light. By the time dinner was over, I was ready for bed. Arthur, however, seemed ready for another horseback ride. We had retired to the living room, television on once again, and the dulcet tones of BBC News filled the area. I had a hunch that this may become a habit for us. Fine by me. Arthur needed to learn about the world, and this required little effort. As the news droned on, I felt myself growing heavier, sleepier, enough so that I jolted when I felt a poke in my side.

“Oi, are you this tired from the horses? You need to exercise more. I feel fine.”

I slid him a flat look. “You’ve been suspended in a magical lake for all this time. It’s harder to keep your endurance up when you’re alive. And I do exercise, just not on horseback.”

“If you were exercising everything, you wouldn’t be tired from riding. You can’t just…” He hovered his hand over my frame. “...Bulk up and expect your body to be well-adjusted.”

Ugh. I was too tired for this scrutiny. Glad as I was that Arthur had actually noticed my physical progress, his judgment killed my mood. “I’ll be sure to work on endurance the next time I’m in the gym.” I let out a wide yawn before rubbing my face with my hands. “For now, though, I think I’m going to bed before I fall asleep sitting here.” I shuffled to the edge of the couch and stood slowly, teetering for a moment on my clumsy feet. Rather than giving Arthur the chance to make a comment, I called a “goodnight” and continued on down the hallway to my bedroom. With the door closed softly behind me, I sluggishly completed my nightly routine, finishing with a wholehearted collapse onto my soft bed. Maybe I would stay like this. Covers weren’t strictly necessary. I was warm enough. Faintly, I made out the sounds of Arthur readying himself for bed in the next room. As my eyelids became heavier, I used the last bit of energy I had to reach out and tug the chain of the lamp, immersing myself in darkness. With it came unconsciousness. 

Unlike last night, I could tell when I slipped into the dream. This one was very different than the other. Forceful. Deliberate. It wanted me to recognize the fantasy of it. The other disparity was that the subject of the dream was not Arthur, but me. I was alone, swathed in darkness, existing somewhere void. There was no Arthur, no house, no earth below me. Instead, just blackness. For a time, I found it safe and comforting, like being inside my unconscious mind. Nothing could hurt me. If this was how my dreams were going to be now that Arthur and I had settled in, I would happily take it. However, I was about to realize my error in judgment. 

What had at first felt close and comforting soon encroached, pressing in on my throat and chest. When I reached out to get some distance, some separation from the abyss, I found myself held in place. Panic rose in me, further increasing the strain on my breathing. Where was this coming from? Why disrupt my rare, peaceful dream? I thought I may suffocate before the answer was given. But before I sagged downward, before I could give up my struggle for air, I felt something at my back. It roused me for a moment, distracting me enough that my reflexes took over. Instantly, my lungs filled, and I felt a bit of momentary relief. I took a test breath, letting the choking sensation diminish before focusing again on the presence behind me. I was still frozen, still couldn’t turn and look, but I threw out my magic in an invisible net around me to sense what I could. 

The first thing I noticed was that it wasn’t an “it.” I felt personality there, something that struck me as innately human. At the same time, though, “human” wasn’t right. Something more… In answer to my prodding, the presence cast its own magic out, which immediately rushed around my form. It buzzed high in my ears, a din of crackling energy. Seeming to latch onto me, the whirling power grew closer. Now I could pick out phrases, questions floating through the magic. They hissed in my ears, and I strained to hear clearly. 

“You are the one.”

“Are you the one?”

“Are you the one who has him?”

“He who died and yet lives.”

“Does he live?”

“Where do you harbor him?”

“He who sank and yet rose.”

“Tell me.”

“Tell me.”

“Give me the answers I seek.”

“Tell me.”

Any curiosity I’d had about the presence disappeared the moment questions were pelted at me. Whoever this was, all they wanted was Arthur, and I no longer wanted anything to do with them or the veil of magic that still spun around me. Rather than giving any answers or showing any reaction, I began using my own magic to poke holes in their net. Focused bursts of energy broke from me and punctured my assailant’s net, slowly shredding it. There was a force then, a shockwave that rammed into me when they realized what I had done. Anger. All I felt was untempered anger. Rage. The sheer intensity of it translated in my ears as screaming. Deafening. Piercing. 

“Tell me!”

“Tell me your name!”

“Tell me where you reside!”

“Tell me where to find your wretched risen corpse!”

Stop, stop, stop. I had to make it stop. I needed to wake up. Wake up! Though I knew it was a dream, it would not release me. Though the foreign magic was no longer surrounding me, I still couldn’t move. Blasted dream prison. Fifteen hundred fucking years of mastering my power, and it was useless when I dreamed. I could never bend dreams to my will the way I could with things in nature. Normally, it didn’t shake me this much. But then again, this wasn’t a standard dream. Something about this felt potent, real. This person, whoever it was, felt as real to me as I did. No. No chance. It was just my mind torturing me because Arthur was back. Same as last night. 

Then why didn’t it feel the same? 

“I have no time for your balking, you insolent fool!”

Honestly, just shut up.

“Tell me where to find Arthur Pendragon!”

See, this was why we were changing his name. All the magical annoyances knew it.

“Do not ignore me!”

Well, too late. I really would rather not ride this dream out. Who knew how it would end if I let it escalate? With me waking up in a blind panic, no doubt. No, better to cut it off as soon as possible, while I was still feeling somewhat myself. Now if I could only figure out how. 

“Heed my words, sorcerer! You cannot escape me!”

Oh, for the love of… “Give it a rest! I’m busy!” Trying to find my way back to the land of the conscious. “Can’t you bugger off and find your way into someone else’s dream?” 

“You think this is all in your head? A dream, even?”

I paused, considering the words. “Are you implying that it’s not?” How the hell else would you describe someone hallucinating while sleeping?

“You cannot comprehend the trouble you have brought upon yourself with the return of your fallen king, sorcerer. You will soon learn that this encounter, and all that will follow, are indeed quite real.”

As if to punctuate the ominous statement, something whipped out from the presence and came down hard on my abdomen. Sharp. Slicing. Claws? Talons? It could have been a handful of paring knives for all I could tell. What was clear was that it hurt, and I was surely bleeding. All the more reason to wake up. 

“I’ll leave you now to come to the proper conclusion. And hear me, warlock. If you do not give me what I want, the consequences will be severe.”

As promised, with its final utterance, the creature vanished into nothingness, leaving me alone once again. This time, when I tried forcing myself into the real world, my eyes shot open, and the blackness around me became tangible. Ceiling. Walls. Doors. Furniture. Me on my bed. I was in exactly the same spot I had fallen asleep in, yet the bedding around me was mussed. When I reached to light the lamp, I found a pillow on the floor, another at my feet. Clearly I hadn’t held as still as I’d thought. More evidence came from the fact that my shirt and the bedclothes around me were wet. Damn cold sweats. At least I wasn’t shaking with panic or curled up in an anxiety attack. I leaned forward to heave myself into a sitting position but stopped short as a screaming pain erupted in my gut. Daggers of white hot agony lanced through me, and I felt rather than heard my cry of distress. 

The wetness, the soaked feeling, it wasn’t sweat at all. It was blood. When I at last found the strength to rise a bit and look down at myself, all I saw was crimson. Shit. Shit shit shit. How could this be real? The wound I had endured in the dream… it was here. It covered my abdomen, five long slices across my flesh. Deep, too. I was still hemorrhaging all over my duvet. Though I wasn’t exactly worried for my life, the sight jarred me. Gingerly, I eased myself sideways to the edge of my bed, attempting to keep pressure on the injury. Another reluctant outcry. Damn, this hurt. 

I don’t know whether he had been asleep for the first wail of pain or whether he simply wasn’t sure of what he was hearing, but at that moment, Arthur decided to investigate. I heard the footsteps echo down the hall and stop at my door, hesitating before opening it a crack. A split second, and it was banging into the wall behind it. He didn’t say anything, not a word, but his face was suddenly set; grim. I could see him clenching his jaw hard as he neared me. Reaching out a pointer finger, I choked out, “Bathroom. Can you get my medical bag? C-Closet…” I was getting a bit woozy from the blood loss. Words were becoming difficult. He followed my direction, rummaging for a moment before drawing out the large brown leather bag and returning to me. I slid down onto the floor from the edge of the mattress, landing hard and letting out a gruff noise of discomfort. Arthur still said nothing but kneeled at my side and ripped open the bag, scattering items around him. 

“That.” Again, I pointed, this time at a mound of sterile gauze. “P-Put p-p-p-” Fucking hell. I growled a bit and forced out the words. “Put p-pressure on the w-wound.” I was shaking now as well as getting dangerously lightheaded. My tongue refused to cooperate as I tried to direct the blond at my side. “Stop the b-b-”

“The bleeding, right.” Finally, Arthur spoke. His voice matched his face. Tight. Serious. If I had any control, I would tell him not to worry; I couldn’t die anyway. But I was losing that battle, and I felt myself slump a bit against the bed. Tired. I just needed to sleep for a- “Wake up, Merlin!” A solid smack on my cheek. Rude. “I think I found the dressing, but I can’t find any clips or anything to make it stay.”

I tried to respond, but my voice was hardly there. A whisper was all I could manage. “The rolls.” He picked one up. “They’re sticky. It will stick… to itself…” So tired. And cold. The shaking had become almost comical. I would really be worried if I knew I couldn’t die. Thankfully, Arthur seemed to realize what he was meant to do, pulling the end of the wrapping and testing its sticking power. Satisfied, he pulled the blood-soaked gauze off of my abdomen and lifted my shirt, pressing fresh gauze over the oozing slices. I wasn’t quite ready for his next action. Gripping my shoulder, he heaved me forward so my head rested on his shoulder while he wound the dressing around me. That hurt. The movement released another moan from me which made Arthur stiffen before continuing his first-aid. 

Around and around he brought the roll until eventually it ran out. He leaned me back then to examine his handiwork. When my head lolled to the side, I felt him catch it; reposition it correctly. “Merlin.” A shake. “It’s wrapped. Are you still with me?”

Mmmmm. No. Not really. “Hm,” was all I could muster. Just let me pass out. I would be fine. Some rest sounded splendid right now. 

Another shake, this one rougher. “Merlin!”

Really, Arthur. Calm down. I told you I couldn’t die. With all the energy left in my body, I breathed, “‘M fine. I’ll heal.” And that was the last bit I managed before giving in to unconsciousness.

* * * 

I don’t think I was truly out because I sensed everything happening around me. I heard Arthur gathering the bloody supplies and tossing them in the bathroom trash. I heard him collect the contents of my bag and put everything back in its home. I felt as he gingerly peeled my drying shirt off and cleaned as much blood as he could from my skin. Soon, a new shirt replaced the first, and I was gently lifted off the floor. Several steps, and I was laid down on what I assumed was Arthur’s bed. 

Then I think I did succumb because the next time I heard something, it was a bird outside the window welcoming the day. Loud. So loud. Sing somewhere else, why didn’t it? I lie there for a long time just feeling myself breathe in and out against the wrapping wound around me. It ached badly, but I’d had much worse. I could handle it. Eventually I grew bored. Focused my energy on opening my eyes and moving my limbs. Ugh, everything was leaden. With a concentrated effort, I lifted one arm and pulled the covers back a bit. Moved a leg. Just a bit more and I would be out of the bed. As my toes touched the plush area rug on the floor below, a voice caught my attention.

“I was going to ask how you were slashed open in the middle of the night while dreaming, but now I think it’s more important that I ask why you’re trying to walk around.”

Ah. Let’s leave that first bit for a moment. “I thought I might go for a run. Work on endurance.” The words were nothing more than a gravelly rasp. 

Arthur didn’t even crack a smile. He leaned in the doorway, still that serious look on his face. “I think you may want to wait until you’ve healed first.”

Clearing my throat, I tried to speak a bit more clearly. “I was just going to change the dressing. Clean it out a bit.” I waited. So did he. “No running.”

“Are you going to tell me how that happened?”

“Ah.” Once again, I reminded myself that I had decided to be open and honest with Arthur. But for this, truly, I didn’t have many details. “I’m afraid I don’t have a great explanation beyond ‘magic dream’ at the moment.” Standing was my next goal, and I scooted forward a bit, biting back a curse at the sudden pain. By the time I reached the edge of the bed, Arthur had moved next to me, obviously doubting my capabilities. Well, he was here now. Might as well make good use of him. I gripped his nearby shoulder and heaved myself up. This time I did curse. Couldn’t help it. 

“Oh, for the love of-” The shoulder I had been clutching was suddenly gone, and a strong arm looped around my middle instead. “Where do you want to go? Because you’re not getting there alone yet.”

He did have a point. When I’d steadied a bit, I pointed toward the bathroom. “Let me take a look at the cuts. Then I promise I’ll rest for a while.” He didn’t respond, but we moved forward slowly. With each step, I felt the energy leaching from me, and I was grateful when Arthur deposited me carefully on the closed toilet. Taking deep breaths, I lifted the edge of my shirt to reveal the bandages. They were bloody again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arthur get my medical bag from the closet. As I peeled the wraps back, he piled the supplies he’d used before on the counter next to me. I added some of my own.

“What are those for?” 

I unscrewed a bottle and poured its contents over a cotton pad. “To prevent infection. Might as well add some now since nothing’s healed over yet.” Pressing the pad to my wounds took the wind out of me, and I found myself shaking again. Probably not yet over the blood loss from before. 

Arthur watched, his expression carefully controlled. “I don’t think those qualify as simple cuts. Violent gashes, maybe.” 

I chose not to say anything. He wasn’t wrong. When everything had been dabbed clean and coated with antiseptic, I reached for a handful of butterfly closures. No use going to the trouble of stitching for this. Next, more gauze. Arthur beat me to that one. He already had several packs of gauze open and waiting, and he passed them over before finding another roll of wrapping. The whole process went much more smoothly than it had before. At last, I was swaddled again in cotton and bandages. Shirt replaced, Arthur graciously let me use the toilet in private before scooping his arm around me again. 

“Help me get to the study, if you don’t mind. I need to do some research.” 

“Research into why a dream sliced you to ribbons? Or do you already know the answer to that and just haven’t enlightened me yet?” 

Touchy, weren’t we? I supposed I would have said the same thing if the roles were reversed. If I had gotten used to the idea that Arthur had hidden his true self from me for years. “I have some ideas, but I don’t know anything for sure.” Though we were moving agonizingly slowly, it was still too fast for me to keep up, and I tripped on my left foot as we entered the hallway. 

With his quick reflexes, Arthur kept me up easily, but I swore I saw him roll his eyes. “Are you going to tell me the ideas? Or even what the dream was about? I heard you talking to someone before I heard you screaming. Who was it?”

“That’s one of the things I don’t know.” My answer was breathless, but we were almost to the study now. “It was some sort of presence asking questions about… well, about you.” No response. “And when I wouldn’t tell it anything, it got angry. It said this wasn’t just a dream.” I sat heavily in my overstuffed reading chair, wincing at the shockwave the motion sent through me. Arthur sat across from me in the desk chair. “When I didn’t believe it, it decided to prove it to me. Thus…” I gestured at my throbbing abdomen. 

Arthur was looking past me, considering my words. “Has this ever happened before?”

“I’ve never had a dream physically harm me, no. I’ve had other things happen in dreams… information, messages, discoveries that came to me. I’ve even dreamed about the future, but nothing like this.” This had been different. Like someone trying to hack my brain, steal my thoughts. “Whoever this was just wanted answers about you, but it couldn’t get them. It ripped my flesh, yes, but it couldn’t break into my head. Maybe it’s easier to attack physically than mentally.”

“It shouldn’t be possible to attack anyone in a dream at all.” Arthur leaned back, face a mask of frustration. 

“If it’s a choice between the two, I’d much rather have a physical attack than a mental one. My body will heal from just about anything, but my mind holds a lot that I’d rather keep away from people I don’t trust.” I tried to lean back like Arthur had but found that it pulled my skin painfully. Instead I shifted awkwardly where I sat. “But if anything, this proves that we need to change your identity as soon as possible. The fewer people who know you exist, the better.”

“But why? I have no power here. I’m no longer a king. I’m not even a bloody court jester! What value could I possibly hold here?”

Sighing, I reached carefully toward the desk beside me for my MacBook. “That’s the ultimate question, it seems.” Too much movement. Pain shot through me, and I dropped my arm before it reached the computer, instead grabbing the edge of the desk. Arthur must have seen my white-knuckled grip because I heard him stand and move toward me. “S-Sorry. Surprised me. I’m fine.” Although I was still trying to regain my composure, I let go of the desk and forced my face into a calm expression. “It’ll heal. For now, I’m just going to sit and work, but…” I pointed lamely at the MacBook. “Could you pass me that?”

Useless. I was currently useless. Arthur complied, but not before asking, “Don’t you have some sort of magic potion to help with the pain? To speed healing?” 

“Actually, modern medicine could essentially eliminate the pain. The healing though, even magic can’t fix that completely.” Finally settled with my computer, I flipped it open and swiped over to the baby name search I had been using the day before. Now, I began typing other things in the search bar. Many students of sorcery ignored modern search engines, but I had found many a useful answer to a magical question on Google. In myths and legends, if nothing else. 

“So why don’t you use some modern medicine if it works so well?”

Because I generally just drank a bottle of whiskey instead. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel. Like I’m not in control of my body or mind.” Ironic, actually. Whiskey did the same, but in a way I enjoyed. It was warm and familiar. An old friend.

The way my other old friend was looking at me told me he thought I was an idiot. After a moment though, his face softened, and he said, “I can understand that. If it was between feeling pain and not being able to do what I needed to, I would choose pain every time.” He looked back at the desk chair, considered for a moment, and decided, “I’m going to get water and something to eat. I assume you want tea.”

Bless him. “If you think you can handle it, I would love tea. Do you remember how to use the kettle?” 

“If I don’t, I’m sure the kitchen will do it for me.” With that and a twitch of a grin, Arthur disappeared down the hall. 

To my surprise, his return brought not only exceptional tea, but also bread and cheese. I appreciated the effort, but couldn’t eat much. The tea, though, was gone almost instantly. I saw the disapproving glance Arthur cast at my full plate, but thankfully, he said nothing. Instead, he decided to delve into my research with me. 

“What did the being in your dream say to you? How did you know it was trying to get to me?”

“Well, the fact that it said ‘tell me where to find Arthur Pendragon’ was a pretty good hint.” 

Arthur was thumbing through random books on the shelves. This, I had learned, was his favorite activity when we were in the study. “I’m surprised it was so obviously put. I had thought that evil beings would be a bit more mysterious.”

Chuckling, and then wincing, I nodded. “Some are. Though this one did also call you my ‘wretched, risen corpse.’ That may fit your assumption a bit better.”

“Indeed.” His back was turned, but as he moved to a new shelf, I saw the frown plastered on his face. 

“It may not necessarily be evil, either. Those who practice magic aren’t always so apparent. And often, there are genuine reasons for everything they do, good or evil. We may just not agree with those reasons.” When I lifted my eyes from my computer screen, I found Arthur staring at me. “What is it?”

“Well, you’re defending evil-doers. It took me by surprise.” His arms were crossed now. Oh boy.

“Arthur, it’s not that simple. And I’m not defending them. I’m just saying that it’s usually a lot more complicated than good versus evil.” Carefully, I tried adjusting in my seat. The cuts were aching more now. Too much talking and drinking and moving. “That’s one thing I’m sure of after being on this earth for so long. I’m also sure I’ve done things that you would categorize as evil in my lifetime.” I would be so much more comfortable if I could just lean back a bit. Sitting up required far too many muscles. Why was this blasted chair so deep? 

“I’m sure I’m still ignorant to a lot of things about magic. And it will probably take me a long time to learn them. But I’m trying… It’s very difficult to change your mindset so quickly.” As his words left him, he unfolded his arms and sank back into the desk chair beside me. “I’m trying,” he repeated. 

Though my gut was throbbing by this point, my focus was on the ache now blossoming in my chest. “I know you are. And I promise I’m trying to make this an easy transition for you. I think the problem is that it just isn’t one.” 

Arthur leaned forward, ran his hands over his face. “For now, let’s just keep you from having any more life-threatening dreams. Then we can focus on other things.” When he lifted his gaze back to me, his formerly weary countenance morphed into confusion. “Are you warm? It doesn’t feel too warm in here to me.”

Puzzled, I responded, “...No, I’m fine. A bit achy, but-“

“You’re sweating.”

Oh. Well, then. “I’m probably just running a fever, that’s all. I’m fine. If it was really bad, I’d feel cold, and I don’t.” To illustrate my fineness, I tried slouching back in the chair yet again. Still couldn’t. Gasped a bit.

“You’re ridiculous. Come on.”

I looked over at his outstretched arm. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Living room. You can rest on the couch, and I’ll watch more television. I’ll even make you more tea.”

“I’m honored.” I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. “But I’m bringing my computer.”

“Whatever you like. Just stop trying to lean back in that awkward chair.” With that, he took my laptop and hoisted me gently to my feet. 

“Yes, sire.” 

The whack on the back of the head that I received was well worth the old, familiar feeling the words stirred.


	9. Chronicle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY MONDAY! This thing was a beast to get right, and even now I'm pretty sure I could have done better. Let me know what you think!! Sorry this one took so long to put out, but I'm a perfectionist.

It took a few days for me to be somewhat independent again. By the end of my invalid period, Arthur had become an expert caretaker. He was even becoming comfortable making simple foods, a huge improvement over the initial day of uncooked snack meals. Now I had the choice of eggs, toast, various sandwiches and paninis, or anything that could be cooked in a microwave. With those options, we had fared well, and neither I nor Arthur had had any real complaints. Finally, though, a morning came when I found myself able to sit up and stretch with relatively little pain, and I knew I was well on the mend. It was with almost a tangible glee that I hobbled awkwardly to my shower and carefully bathed before dressing and emerging with no assistance. I think everyone understands how much you appreciate being able to take care of yourself and function normally after not being able to do so. Such contentment.

The dreams had quieted a bit while I was healing, likely because of the sleep aids I had downed nightly. Say what you like about self-medication, but I hadn’t wanted to deal with another round of dream injuries while I was healing from the first. And the pills had thankfully helped quite a lot. I felt refreshed and confident that I could at least wander the house solo today, perhaps do some cooking and give Arthur a break. The first place I made it to was the kitchen. Arthur’s door had been open when I’d passed it, and I’d assumed he would be here. But no, I was the only one in the room as I set about making tea and something for breakfast. Thinking he would probably pop in at some point soon, I made an extra omelette and sauteed vegetables and left them steaming on a plate. The three-step journey from the counter to the table was tricky with my plate and mug and slightly hunched posture, but at last I was seated with my food. I pulled up the news on my phone, savoring the quiet morning.

Fifteen minutes later, I had run out of tea, omelette, veggies, and headlines, and I was beginning to wonder where Arthur had gotten to. I hadn’t heard anyone in the gym or the living room. I doubted he was up in the greenhouse; he hadn’t shown much interest in it beyond his first day here. He could have been in the bathroom when I walked past his room, then gone back to bed… but surely he would have kept his door closed if that were the case. The only places left to check were really the study and… the basement. After the first day downstairs, he hadn’t gone back, but maybe he had grown curious. Either way, time to find him. I stood again, still moving glacially slowly on my own. Instead of washing my dishes, I left them for the house to take care of and headed to the study. 

As soon as I arrived in the doorway, I knew I had been correct. The entrance to the cellar was open, a light glowing from beneath the staircase. Just as I reached the back wall though, a blond head bobbed up the spiral and met me at the threshold. His brows rose, color flooding his face for a moment as if he’d been caught doing something illicit. Then a huff of a laugh and he said, “You surprised me.” 

“You as well.” I backed up to give him room to exit the stairway and sat on the edge of the desk. “I made breakfast if you’re hungry. Yours is on a plate in the kitchen.” 

He glanced down at my arm loosely wrapped around my middle. “You sure you’re alright to be moving around on your own? You couldn’t do much yesterday.” 

“I’ll not be going for any runs today, but yeah. I can manage.” He looked unconvinced. As proof, I stood and shuffled slowly out of the room, hand on the wall for a bit of support. I heard him follow closely, probably to make sure I wasn’t overestimating my abilities, but we reached the kitchen without incident. While Arthur ate, I downed a second cup of tea and readied a third, at last settling in a chair at the table. “What made you finally head down to the basement? I didn’t think you went there much.”

Swallowing his bite, Arthur shook his head and said, “I don’t, no. But I wanted to take a look around.” I had been adding to it for a long time. Every few years, I’d fill another journal or find something or other that I wanted to keep safe. “Your journals…” Arthur fiddled with his fork. “Have you kept them since Camelot?”

As interesting as my artifacts were, I had suspected that my journals were the draw for Arthur’s curiosity. “Yes, though some were destroyed before I learned how to properly preserve them.” When he didn’t respond right away, I asked, “Is that what you were looking at this morning?”

“Actually, the last few mornings.” A beat, then, “I hope that’s alright.”

Gulping the last swallow of tea, I set the mug down and pushed it aside. “It’s fine. I knew you would be curious. But just be aware…” How to phrase this? “There are going to be a lot of things in there that you won’t like.” 

“I have no illusions, Merlin. You’ve told me before that your life wasn’t always pleasant. That you were alone for a lot of it. But I want to know what I missed.” Also finished, he stood and gathered our empty dishes.

I followed his lead and stood too, albeit slower. There were several things in those journals that I wasn’t too keen for Arthur to read, but again, I had opted to be honest with him. Though I wondered how he would react to the darkness in my writings. It went much further than a bit of loneliness and angst. As I ambled in the direction of my room, thoughts of all the things Arthur would soon learn swam in my head. Open and honest. No turning back now.

“Where are you going?” 

The thoughts abruptly scattered as I turned back to Arthur. “To put on real clothes. I thought I might go into town for food. If you haven’t noticed, we’re running low on nearly everything.”

Suddenly in front of me, Arthur said, “Don’t you think maybe you should heal a bit more first? At least until you can walk at a normal pace?”

“Relax, Arthur. I won’t need to walk at all. And I’ve missed driving these past few days.” Even if I had to hold still, it would be nice to get out of the house. At my door, I refused to stop, forcing Arthur to move out of my way so as not to squish me. “I’ll call ahead and order what I need. Someone will bring everything out to me when I get there.”

My large blond shadow trailed behind me into the room. “Call ahead?” 

“Mhm.” An absent-minded murmur.

After a few beats of silence, he repeated more slowly, “Call ahead?” 

Right. We hadn’t gotten to that one yet. I had rarely used my phone as more than a miniature computer in front of my new roommate. “Yeah… This,” pulling out my phone, “is a mobile phone, which you’ve seen me use several times for research or news headlines.” I waited for him to acknowledge his familiarity with the device, then continued. “It can also put me in contact with anyone else who has one. I just need a specific set of numbers to reach their particular phone. When I reach out to someone with this, I’m making a ‘call’ to that person.”

“So you can talk to someone with it.”

I nodded, already pulling up the number for the local grocery. “I’m going to call now and order some things.” With Arthur peering over my shoulder, I dialed the store and put the phone to my ear. When I had rambled off everything we needed, I ended the call and turned to Arthur. “I’m going to get ready so I can pick everything up. Do you want to come with me or stay here?”

“And I assume we wouldn’t be getting out of the car the whole time.”

“Correct.”

“I’ll stay.” 

“I’m shocked.” I turned to my wardrobe to find an outfit. When I turned back to the doorway, clothes in hand, Arthur had left me to change. As soon as I was dressed and ready, I slowly approached the front door, pulling my keys out. “Arthur?” I heard a muffled “what” in response. “I’m leaving. Don’t burn the house down. I should be back in a little over an hour.” When again the muffled answer came, I opened the door and stepped into the sunny day. 

As cold as it was, the blinding sunlight had warmed the interior of my black car, and I relished the break from the chill. This was a much-needed trip. Not only for groceries, but also because I typically didn’t shut myself in the house for quite so long. It had been over a week since our horseback ride, and though I hadn’t felt capable of going anywhere until today, I had still wanted an outing of some kind. This was the perfect one. I didn’t even have to move. Down my long drive I crept, following the curves in the road. Winter had a beauty of its own, much different than the other seasons. Each tree was a skeleton, dark against the bright sky. The world seemed still; peaceful. In the warmer months, everything thrummed with life and energy, inviting you to come closer and celebrate. But winter was poetic. Introspective. Serene. I almost preferred it. Plus there was something so much more satisfying about a hot cup of tea when it was freezing out. Meeting a need rather than fueling an addiction. 

Finally I turned from the end of my drive onto the smooth motorway that would carry me toward the town where I worked. I tried to enjoy the feeling of the car moving, the road beneath me, but my thoughts instead turned to Arthur back at home. Was this how parents felt when they left their children alone for the first time? Even though Arthur was an adult, he was, at least in this modern world, essentially a child. He still had so much to learn about everything around him. It didn’t help that I had no way of contacting him if something went wrong, nor he me. Perhaps a pit stop for a second phone before heading back…

Another thirty minutes of sprawling winter landscape, and I arrived to pick up my foodstuffs. I tipped the young woman who brought my bags out generously before pulling back onto the road and driving to the nearest phone retailer. Might as well get him an iPhone. It was what he had seen me using and played with himself. More familiar. Parked, I summoned my strength and eased myself out of the warm leather seat. Shit, I was heavy. Sitting still for so many days had affected my strength more than I would have liked. Though my arms shook as I raised myself to stand, eventually I was up and walking into the store. Fifteen minutes later, I emerged with a bag containing a multitude of paperwork, a clear protective case, and a bright red iPhone XR. I had gone with the colored option for two reasons: it was a bit cheaper than my model, and I didn’t want to get our phones mixed up. Arthur would enjoy having his look flashier, I was sure. 

As I retraced my route back to the house, I checked the time. I had been gone longer than anticipated, no doubt due to the phone errand, and when at last I opened the front door, I expected Arthur to be nearby, waiting. Instead, I found emptiness. Rather than making many strenuous trips back and forth to get the bags, I murmured a command and watched the groceries carry themselves into the kitchen. I could put those away in a moment. Right now, I wondered where Arthur had gone. Like that morning, I made the effort to wander the house, checking rooms as I went. Again, no Arthur. 

Ah. Basement, then. Sure enough, the doorway was open as it had been earlier. This time, however, my roommate didn’t emerge. Probably preoccupied. Carefully I took the stairs, easing myself down one by one until at last I reached the hard floor. I had been correct. Surrounded by pools of glowing light at my large reading table sat Arthur, musty volumes open around him. When I grew closer, I realized that they were in fact my journals. He had evidently started with the oldest ones I still possessed and was steadily making progress. How long had he been doing this? Clearly not just today. He was quite far along. I grimaced inwardly at the content I knew he would soon reach if he hadn’t already. Not wanting to interrupt, I quietly approached the table and slid into an armchair nearby. 

Arthur was so focused that he didn’t even flinch when I took my seat. With furrowed brows, he kept his eyes trained on my scrawled words. Whatever he was reading seemed to be making him very unhappy. Either that, or he just couldn’t make out the script. Both were possible. I just sat. Sat and watched as he slowly moved from page to page. Which journal was this? I angled my head a bit, straining to make out the words from where I sat. When he flipped the page again, I caught sight of a date. I froze. The top of the page read “14 July, 736.” I knew that day. I didn’t want to watch him read those words, but if I stood now, surely he would notice. So I waited. 

Minutes passed. Arthur’s eyes bored into the book as he moved downward line by line and onto the next page. The next. The next. And then he stopped. His eyes darted back to the last few lines on the previous page. Checking to make sure he had read it right, no doubt. He had. There was little chance of misinterpreting a story where someone is burned at the stake. Though the fact that I remained alive to write the tale was likely throwing him off kilter a bit. 

If it was possible, his brows knit closer together. When he had lingered on the same few lines for over a minute, I decided to speak up. Quietly, so as not to startle him, I sat up straighter in my chair and murmured, “I can recommend much better stories. That’s never been one of my favorites.”

He startled anyway. The page he was holding nearly ripped as he jumped where he sat. “Bloody hell, Merlin! How long have you been sitting there?!” 

Keeping my grin small, I answered, “About twenty minutes, I’d say. I wasn’t planning on surprising you, but you didn’t notice when I got here.” I paused, then added, “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Good job of that.” Arthur rolled his eyes and settled back into his chair. As he looked again at the journal, his demeanor shifted. He pointed to the words he had been staring at, his gaze on me imploring. “This…” Silence for a long moment. “When you told me you couldn’t die… Is this how you found out?”

I considered the question. “One of the ways, yes. Besides the fact that I had already been alive for over two hundred and fifty years without aging past about twenty-eight.” I offered a slightly wider grin. “That was a dead giveaway.” Despite my attempt at humor, Arthur didn’t sway in his seriousness. In fairness, it wasn’t a funny situation. Not at all. But I had never had to share this with anyone. My promise to be open with my king was beginning to smart a bit. 

“You were captured by enemy kingsmen, flogged, tied to a stake, burned, and somehow lived, and you’re trying to make a joke.” Disbelief. Utter disbelief left his brows low and his mouth slightly agape. “Since we’ve already established that you do feel pain, I’m not sure how you’re treating this subject so lightly.”

“Two reasons, actually.” My smile dropped. “One is that it’s been a long time since then. I can’t feel the whips or the flames anymore.” Though in that moment, saying those words, I could. “The other...” I shifted uncomfortably in my very comfortable chair. “That instance, and others that followed… changed me,” I finished lamely. “All this time, having lived all those experiences, created a lot of anxiety and, later, depression. I’ve been struggling with both for a very long time.” My pause felt dramatic, but I needed it to collect my thoughts. Mental illness hadn’t exactly been a hot topic in the 500s. No one had understood it or talked about it, unlike now. Your problems were yours and you were expected to overcome them. “Which is why I try to approach memories like these...” I laid a hand on the table beside the journal. “Lightly. And as seldom as possible.” 

I waited then, giving Arthur the opportunity to digest what I had told him. His eyes dropped to the tabletop, a faraway look on his face. “The man I’ve been living with since coming back… I’ve known he was very different. He tries to be the same, but he’s nothing like the Merlin from before. Not really. Not past the surface.” Returning to the present, Arthur brought his attention back to me. “I’m sorry about what happened to him. And that he had to experience horrors like-” He looked to the journal. Refrained from finishing the sentence. I was thankful. “I can’t imagine it. Feeling it. And then not-” He stopped himself. “You’re incredibly strong, Merlin.”

“It took an awful lot for you to admit that fact.” 

I was trying to lighten things again, but he ignored the attempt. “I’d actually worked that out after the battle at Camlann, when you revealed your magic to me. This is just… confirmation.” He leaned back and relaxed his posture a bit, trying to expel some of the seriousness in the air. Then he had a thought. “This isn’t the only horrific story in these journals, is it?”

Eyes on the floor, I shook my head. “Far from it. Though it is the only attempt to burn me alive, thankfully.” Inwardly I flinched at the words; I was desperate for a change of topic. Remembering the bags of groceries in the kitchen above us, I readied myself to stand. “Perhaps we should save the rest for another time. Come help me put away the food, and I’ll show you what I got you.” 

Arthur made no move to put the journals away, but he stood. I was sure he’d be back before long to continue digging. He watched me prepare to get out of the chair for a moment before rolling his eyes and offering his arm. “It’s painful to watch that, honestly.” 

“I’m fine. Just tired from the trip to town.” I took the proffered arm and let it hoist me up. 

As we began moving, Arthur kept his arm nearby. “If you were fine, an hour long trip to town wouldn’t make you tired. Especially in that plush car.” I refrained from answering.

In the kitchen, the groceries were waiting patiently, as expected. Arthur left me to unbag everything and began putting things in their homes. We were nearly finished when he found the bag from the phone store amidst the empty grocery sacks. Thoroughly distracted, he abandoned the rest of the food and fished out the phone box instead. Puzzlement covered his face. “You got another?”

I set a carton of eggs in the fridge and turned to him. “Ah, actually you got one.” I took the box from his hands and slid the lid off. “I want to be able to contact you if I’m away for a long time.” Phone in hand, I went about putting it in its case and setting it up. When I looked up again, Arthur was leaning against the counter staring at me. “What?”

“What you mean to say is that the hour we were apart made you worry.” 

If he didn’t wipe that flat look off his face… “It was more than an hour. A lot can happen in that time.” The look remained. I ignored it and plugged the phone in to charge. 

* * *

I don’t know why I’d expected that night to yield restful sleep. Perhaps because despite the events in the cellar that day, we’d gone about our afternoon and evening perfectly normally. Arthur had made progress with his phone while I had made zero progress on my research into my previous dream invasion. Later we’d eaten, talked, watched the news, and readied for bed before going our separate ways. Again I had downed my sleep aids, not wanting to leave anything to chance. 

However solid my intentions, chance, it seemed, would have free reign that night.

It started like any normal, healthy dream from my days in the past. Research occupied much of my free time then, and I had been hunting medicinal plants in the forest around my cottage. With my bag overflowing with the day’s finds, I made my way back home. Looking back on it, I was sure I had sensed something out of the ordinary, but that night, I ignored it and continued my work. I was confident that I could handle whatever may be lurking nearby. I was wrong. 

All was quiet for several hours. By the time my herbs and fungi and blooms were stowed away or drying from the ceiling, I was ready for sleep. The day had been peaceful and productive, and I was in a rare happy state of mind. My bed felt especially comfortable, the night air cool on my face. So seldom was it not stifling in July. Within a few minutes, I had slipped into slumber. So heavy was the sleep that I didn’t hear the muffled footsteps and gentle swish of chainmail as my captors neared. I didn’t notice how figures blocked the moonlight streaming from the shuttered windows or how the breeze stopped coming as men circled closely round my cottage. All the world was safe to me in those fateful moments; safe and dark and warm. And then I woke.

Awfully underhanded to come at a man in the dead of night when he’s secure in his own bed. My peace was interrupted by the cold clink of heavy shackles being buckled around my wrists. Before I could open my eyes to investigate the unwelcome sensation, a spell hit me so hard I couldn’t breathe for several seconds. My eyes stayed shut as I tried to shake off the stunning effect, but it held firm. Finally, I opened my eyes. At least six heavily armored men were gathered near my bed, though the man closest to me instead wore layers of fine tunics. Even in the limited moonlight, I could see bits of gold embroidery glinting from the fabric. His eyes flashed as he added layer after layer of binding magic to his initial spell. Scarcely any words were spoken aloud, but his lips were moving furiously. This was a sorcerer. Their sorcerer, evidently. The magic coiled around my body, rendering me completely useless both physically and mentally. When I reached for a counter-spell, none came. I was frozen, swaddled by the invisible force. So I watched and listened.

I saw the mens’ mouths form words, plans of action. They were taking me from here and bringing me to face their king. A few hours’ ride, they said, and I would be taken to the city center and cleansed before the populus. Cleansed. I doubted that meant I would be given a bath. More likely have my magic stripped from me in some way. I needed a plan, a spell, something to free myself, but each time the binding loosened a bit, their sorcerer reinforced it immediately. Essentially, I was stuck. 

The ride was in no way comfortable. I was slung over a horse in front of one of the armor-clad men. On the neighboring horse sat the sorcerer, eyes on me when they weren’t on the path ahead. Slowly, we moved through the thickets and brambles that encircled my cottage, later moving into more sparsely forested land where they could make the horses run. That was an unpleasant experience, to say the least. I panted tightly through the binding as the wind was knocked out of me again and again. I must have been absolutely covered in bruises from the journey. When at last we reached the gates of the city, the horses were brought to a halt and my captors dismounted before pulling me roughly to the ground. From there, I was dragged. 

Hoards of people lined the streets, spitting, shouting, kicking me as we passed. Body aching and covered in dirt and scrapes, we arrived at what must have been our destination. I was dumped face-down on a cobbled square in the midst of a great throng, more jeering meeting my ears. As I was still incapable of moving, I lay where I had landed, breathing in dirt and struggling to cough. Soon I was hauled to a kneeling position. Before me stood more armored men, whips in hand. Shit, this cleansing would not be pleasant. Behind them on a raised platform, their king watched with his family and guards. Judging by the distance we had traveled and the size of the city, we were in Mercia. Which king was ruling now? Ceolred? Aethelbald? It was difficult to keep track, not that it mattered much. Whoever was standing up on that platform wished me harm. 

This dream never seemed to linger on the dryer bits, no matter how many times it played in my head. Therefore I missed the words exchanged, the crimes listed, and the judgment that came clamoring down upon me. I didn’t hear what was spoken, but I remembered the realization that came with the words. I always remembered. The cleansing was to be worse than I had anticipated. Much, much worse. For what I didn’t see when I was facing the armored men, what had been behind my back all the time, was the most important part of the picture. The crowd, yes, that was bad. The whips were foreboding, certainly, but those were bearable. Survivable. 

Not so the jagged wood pile topped with an eight-foot stake. 

From the moment I saw it, the rest of the details faded. They’ve stayed dim in my memory ever since. All I knew was that I would die, burned alive as a sorcerer, an evil-doer in the eyes of the populus. I had escaped the fate of a magician in Camelot just to die the same death hundreds of years later. Camelot’s progress hadn’t mattered. The fact that I had been Court Sorcerer hadn’t mattered. Not here in front of this king who wanted to punish my gifts despite having a sorcerer of his own. Here, it was the same as it had been so long ago. My old fear flooded me, and I desperately wished for Arthur to appear, resurrected and whole, and put a stop to this. 

Too fast for my eyes to follow, the first whip lashed out and struck me. Hot pain lanced across the left side of my body, and I cried out in surprise. I hadn’t even seen the man flinch. Still bound, I tried to curl in on myself but failed. Instead I tipped over and landed on my right side. The other whip-bearers took that as an open invitation, and soon my body was screaming with pain. The whips curled around my exposed legs, my left arm, my throat and stomach and back. Two hit my face. Through the agony and the tears streaming unwillingly from my eyes, I focused as well as I could on the crowd around me, hoping for some form of help to appear. Many faces were angry or solemn, some flinched when the whips landed, and still others couldn’t bear to look. Parents held their children closely, either hiding their faces or making sure they bore witness to my consequences. But I saw no help. 

The flogging, though miserable, was over too quickly. I knew what came next. I hoped that perhaps their sorcerer would lift his spell so I could be tied up more easily, give me a few seconds to work some magic of my own, but no. While I remained tightly wound, my captors strode forward and grabbed me up off the cobbles. Roughly they dragged me up the woodpile to the waiting stake. Back against the wood, fresh panic flashed through me. Ropes were tied securely around my chest, my middle, my legs. I hadn’t thought it was possible to feel less in control, but here I was being proven wrong. Breaths passed my lips faster and faster as anxiety and adrenaline throttled my system. Words were thrown out around me, shouts from the onlookers. Speaking over the noise, the king issued an order then, and many things seemed to happen at once. 

The cacophony from the crowd rose to thunderous levels, yet somehow my own heartbeat was louder in my ears. One of the armored men appeared before me holding a torch. Stepping carefully, he navigated the wood pile to stand beside me, and I thought I may pass out from sheer panic before they lit the pyre. Desperately, my eyes shot from person to person, begging for someone to intervene. Begging their sorcerer, the man somehow exempt from the hateful law he condoned, to release my binding so I could free myself. The sorcerer refused to meet my gaze; he only stood muttering, maintaining the spell. The torch was held next to my feet as the king uttered one last command, and then the wood caught.

Of course I had imagined what burning would feel like when I lived in Camelot. Each time I had seen some poor soul tied up and awaiting their punishment, I had put myself in their place. I had felt for them as they struggled and then screamed when they could no longer stand the pain. Or rather, I thought I had felt for them. It turned out that my imagined feeling of burning had paled in comparison to the real thing. Almost immediately, the flames licked my bare feet and ankles and shins, and it was instant agony. I bit back a scream for as long as I could, body quaking from the pain and the heat and the panic, but I couldn’t keep myself quiet. I scarcely knew when I began to wail, but within a few seconds, I heard my shrieks echoing around me. The word “pain” cannot describe the sensation of feeling your own flesh bubble and split and char. Torture. Horror. Anguish. Torment. Those come closer. Still not enough, though. My brain could not accurately process the enormity of what I felt, and so I screamed. I thrashed as best I could against the spell that still held me; I was probably barely moving. The blaze reached my nightclothes then, and I lost all semblance of myself. I was only searing pain, only the cruel fire, and I was dying.

I felt my faculties slipping as I lost control. Though only moments ago I had been frantic, my frying body had no energy left for that. I sagged against my restraints, unfocused eyes moving over the crowd before me. Not much shouting anymore. Perhaps they had tired as I had. I knew I was about to lose consciousness, making these my last views of the world. I took in as many as I could. The sky clouding with smoke as it billowed up from my body. The peaks of roofs and turrets rising up from the city around me. And the people. So many unfamiliar faces staring at the wicked sorcerer dying in their city center. Good riddance, they seemed to say. Except one.

There was one face I caught sight of in the crowd that roused my energy for a split second before it waned again. Tousled blond hair. Light skin. And those eyes; I knew those eyes. Blue as the sea on a clear day. But how was he here? This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He was dead. Or was he? 

Yes, quite dead. This must be wishful thinking. My broiling brain showing me what I wanted to see. Even so, I let the familiar visage soothe me in those last moments. One. Two. Three. Four. Arthur stared back at me. Five. My eyelids sank. And before I counted six, everything faded.


End file.
